WIND 
ALONG    THE    WASTE 


_  '    '      I    .(1 


Jff'SB 


My   eyes   had   not   played   tricks    on   me   yesterday 


WIND 
ALONG   THE  WASTE 


BY 

GLADYS  E.  JOHNSON 


am 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1921 


4fr 


^v* 


\v 


Copyright,  1921,  by 
The  Centuby  Co. 

Copyright,  1921,  by 

The  Consolidated  Magazines  Corporation 

(The  Blue  Book  Magazine) 


♦    • 


*  «  <  1. 1  « 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 


PAGE 


I  Ann's  Reception  at  Dune  House  .     .      3 

II  Joan's  " Bluebeard  Chamber' t  ...     19 

III  Shadows  of  Fear .35 

IV  Watching .48 

V  "What  the  Sand  Revealed  ....     67 

VI  The  Howl  in  the  Night     ....     80 

VII  Ann  Makes  a  Decision 93 

VIII  The  Paralytic  Man 109 

IX  Ann  Puts  Her  Trust  in  Flour     .     .  125 

X  Midnight  Prowlers 138 

XI  Questions  Without  Answers   .     .     .  153 

XII  The  Footprint  in  the  Flour  .     .      .  171 

XIII  In  the  Night 188 

XIV  More  Things  in  Heaven  and  Earth    .  204 
XV  Tai  Loy 220 

XVI  The  Yellow  Wolf     ......  242 

XVII  Hoang 259 

XVIII  The  Curtain  Ascends 267 


436220 


WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 


WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

CHAPTER  I 

ANN'S  RECEPTION   AT  DUNE  HOUSE 

<X  TOJJ  can  see  for  yourself  that  there  's  nothing 
j[  to  get  scared  of.  Lonely?  'Course  it's 
lonely ;  so  's  every  country  house,  and  I  suppose 
some  would  find  sand-dunes  more  so  than  the 
straight  country,  but  if  you  have  a  brain  in  your 
head  —  and  I  think  you  have ;  that 's  why  I  en- 
gaged you  —  you  are  n't  going  to  work  up  a  fit  of 
hysterics  and  think  every  shadow 's  a  ghost  and 
it 's  going  to  bite  you !  " 

Eliza  Haldayne  finished  this  tirade  with  a 
rather  belligerent  stare,  and  I  quickly  murmured 
something  about  "  hoping  not." 

Her  quick  black  eyes  galloped  about  the  room. 
"  I  think  everything  you  '11  need 's  here.  The 
children's  room  is  next  to  yours.  You  '11  see  'em 
in  the  morning.  Hoang  brought  your  baggage 
up,  I  see,"  with  a  quick  glance  at  my  suit-cases 
placed  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.     "Don't  open  your 


4  \yiMD  ALONG-  THE  WASTE 

windows;  night  air's  bad.  Breakfast's  at 
eight." 

Firing  this  information  jerkily,  as  one  who  is 
unaccustomed  to  or  impatient  of  wasting  re- 
marks, she  moved  toward  the  door,  the  light  from 
the  hanging  kerosene  lamp  wickedly  painting  her 
bobbing  caricature  on  the  walls  as  she  did  so. 

At  the  doorway  she  paused  a  moment  and 
looked  back  at  my  motionless  figure  bathed  in 
the  lamplight.  It  might  have  been  a  trick  of 
the  shadows,  or  perhaps  only  my  fancy,  but  for 
a  brief  instant  she  seemed  about  to  speak,  inde- 
cision battling  with  some  other  emotion  which  I 
could  not  analyze.  Whatever  the  impulse  may 
have  been,  it  was  quickly  over.  Her  middle-aged 
features  slipped  back  into  their  usual  stern  mask 
and  with  a  curt  "  Good  night  "  she  had  disap- 
peared into  the  hall. 

For  a  moment  I  stood  hesitating  in  the  center 
of  the  big,  high-ceiled  room,  chilled  more  than 
reassured  by  the  advice  I  had  just  received.  The 
lamp  cast  a  cone  of  yellow  light,  an  enormous 
splash  of  color,  in  the  very  center  of  the  room. 
Beyond  its  radius  the  shadows  gathered  omi- 
nously, seeming  only  to  await  some  signal  to  rush 
silently  upon  me.  Before  the  fancy  my  usual 
self-possession  fled,  leaving  me  feeling  very  frail 
and  defenseless. 

After  all,  Keason  began  hysterically,  what  did 


ANN'S  KECEPTION  5 

I  know  about  this  woman  who  had  engaged  me 
as  governess?  Even  the  country  was  strange 
to  me.  The  automobile  which  had  brought  me 
from  the  city  had  traveled  all  day  to  reach  this 
lonely  house  on  the  California  coast.  My  sense 
of  direction  had  given  up  in  despair  long  ago.  I 
did  not  know  how  far  we  were  from  San  Fran- 
cisco ;  I  did  not  know  if  there  was  another  dwell- 
ing within  miles. 

The  thought  .brought  its  own  panic.  I  flew 
silently  to  the  door  to  lock  it.  I  could  see  no 
key  and  impatiently  I  grasped  the  knob  to  see  if 
it  might  not  be  on  the  outside. 

My  chilled  fingers  became  aware  of  an  indis- 
putable fact.  The  knob  was  held  firmly  by  an- 
other hand,  out  there  in  the  hall. 

For  the  moment  that  unexpected  resistance 
left  me  too  surprised  to  cry  out.  I  felt  my  fin- 
gers relax;  the  great  room  with  its  splashes  of 
lamplight  swam  wildly.  The  faded  red-velvet 
curtains  before  the  windows  were  ominously 
bulky. 

The  vertigo  passed.  A  hot  anger  came  in  its 
wake  and  I  twisted  the  knob  viciously.  This 
time  it  gave  easily,  but  the  door  remained  closed. 
It  was  locked  from  without.  In  stubborn  terror 
I  debated  the  wisdom  of  shaking  the  knob 
frenziedly  and  screaming  until  some  one  should 
come  to  release  me.     Even  as  the  thought  pre- 


6  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

sented  itself  the  futility  of  such  a  proceeding 
became  apparent. 

I  walked  slowly  back  to  the  friendly  cone  of 
light,  my  eyes  furtively  taking  in  every  detail  of 
the  apartment.  The  chairs,  ugly  modifications 
of  Windsors,  stupidly  carved  and  stuffily  uphol- 
stered, cast  grotesque  shadows  on  the  white  plas- 
ter walls.  The  high  ceiling  was  lost  in  the  dusk 
above;  an  old-fashioned  black  walnut  wardrobe, 
towering  upward  in  the  gloom,  offered  frightful 
suggestions.  I  deliberately  walked  the  length  of 
the  room  and  boldly  flung  it  open,  feeling  the 
roots  of  my  hair  tingle  as  I  did  so.  Its  half- 
doors  banged  back  against  the  wall,  but  it  was 
reassuringly  empty. 

Leaving  it  gaping,  I  turned  next  to  those  sug- 
gestively bulky  window  hangings.  My  new  em- 
ployer's warning  about  opening  the  windows  now 
leaped  to  my  mind,  endowed  with  new  coloring. 
Advancing  as  though  I  intended  to  return  to  the 
neglected  suit-cases  at  the  end  of  the  bed,  I  sud- 
denly wheeled  and  jerked  aside  the  heavy  hang- 
ings. Nothing  but  closed  wooden  shutters  met 
my  wide  eyes.  These  I  unbolted,  then  raised  one 
of  the  long,  narrow  sashes. 

A  rush  of  fog  came  to  my  face  and  the  lamp- 
light fell  on  a  heavy  wire  mesh  completely  cov- 
ering the  open  area,  as  effectively  as  iron  bars 
could  have  done.     No  one  could  get  into  the  room 


ANN'S  RECEPTION  7 

through  the  windows,  that  was  certain.  It 
should  have  been  reassuring,  but  —  neither  could 
any  one  get  out. 

I  closed  and  bolted  the  shutters  again,  strug- 
gling hard  for  self-possession.  The  windows 
would  have  been  of  no  aid,  anyway;  I  had 
climbed  a  long  flight  of  stairs  to  this  second- 
story  room.  The  ground  probably  lay  thirty  or 
more  feet  below. 

I  returned  to  the  lamp's  circle  and  gingerly 
seated  myself  on  the  edge  of  the  old-fashioned 
wooden  bed,  rendered  creaky  and  rheumatic  by 
long  years  of  ocean  dampness. 

The  vague  doubts  I  had  unconsciously  enter- 
tained all  day  were  now  alive  three-fold  and 
screaming  for  recognition.  My  mind  flew  back 
over  my  brief  acquaintance  with  Eliza  Haldayne, 
searching  for  some  inkling  why  she  should  lock 
up  the  governess  she  had  just  engaged  for  her 
sister's  children.  A  more  matter-of-fact,  unro- 
mantic  figure  than  Miss  Haldayne  it  would  have 
been  hard  to  imagine. 

I  had  literally  "  fallen  into "  this  position. 
Cramming  four  years'  college  work  into  three, 
and  this  coupled  with  the  double  task  of  earning 
a  livelihood  at  the  same  time,  had  brought  a 
physical  collapse  hand-in-hand  with  my  degree  of 
A.B.  My  carefully  hoarded  little  capital  melted 
with  laughable  rapidity.     Once  on  my  feet  again, 


8  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

I  looked  for  secretarial  work,  thanking  the  lucky 
star  which  had  included  a  brief  business  course 
of  stenography  in  my  curriculum.  It  was  not 
easy  to  find.  One  employment  bureau  after  the 
other  was  visited.  Discouraged  by  a  day's  un- 
successful tramping  of  wet  streets,  I  had  hesi- 
tated before  a  small  agency  on  a  side  street. 

"  One  more,"  my  will-power  coaxed  my  tired 
body.  "  Just  this  one ;  then  you  can  go  home 
to  a  nice  mustard  footbath."  It  was  a  forlorn 
hope.  The  place  dealt  exclusively  in  domestic 
servants,  and  these  of  the  less  desirable  sort. 

I  left  there  quickly,  and,  because  of  the  tired 
tears  in  my  eyes  and  a  run-over  heel,  I  was  care- 
less in  stepping  to  the  wet  pavement.  I  was 
vastly  astonished  to  find  myself  on  all  fours, 
directly  in  the  path  of  a  tall,  big-framed  woman 
who  was  heading  for  the  entrance. 

Even  as  she  helped  me  to  my  feet  her  quick 
black  eyes  ran  over  me,  missing  no  detail  of  my 
shabby,  would-be-efficient  attire,  now  muddy  and 
wet.     She  began  without  preliminaries : 

"  You  just  came  out  of  that  place.  Are  you 
looking  for  a  position?" 

Too  tired  to  resent  her  tone,  I  answered: 
i  Yes.  But  they  have  n't  anything  for  me.  I  'm 
a  stenographer." 

"  Well,  I  don't  suppose  it  would  kill  you  to  do 
something  else.    You  're  about  twenty-three,  I 


ANN'S  KECEPTION  9 

guess.    You  look  like  you  had  sense.    What 's 
your  name?  " 

At  another  time  this  cross-examination  would 
have  roused  either  my  indignation  or  my  sense 
of  humor.     Now  I  told  her,  meekly  enough. 

"  Well,  look  here,  Ann  Belmont,"  she  persisted: 
"  I  'm  looking  for  a  nurse-girl  —  a  governess,  if 
you  like  the  term  better,  though  I  don't  care  if 
you  can't  teach,  so  long  as  you  have  gumption. 
It 's  to  take  care  of  two  children.  Just  because 
the  place  is  in  the  country  the  average  fool 
woman  thinks  it 's  lonesome.  I  '11  pay  you 
twenty  a  week  besides  your  board ;  that 's  better 
than  you  're  liable  to  get  with  your  stenography. 
You  're  young  and  you  look  as  if  you  had  sense. 
Besides,  you  're  not  pretty  —  I  can't  stand  a 
pretty  fool.    Will  you  come?  " 

It  was  rather  sudden,  and  the  snob  which  is 
in  all  of  us  rose  within  me  at  what  it  was 
pleased  to  regard  as  a  "  menial  "  position.  Eliza 
Haldayne  met  every  objection  and  overrode  it. 
Wet  feet  and  the  munificent  salary  backed  her 
up.     I  was  engaged. 

Early  the  next  morning,  my  new  employer 
drove  around  to  my  side-street  hotel,  the  only 
occupant  of  a  clumsy  great  machine  whose  height 
and  outside  gear-shift  and  horn  proclaimed  it 
the  vintage  of  some  ten  years  before.  Like  its 
owner,  it  was  sadly  in  need  of  "smartening." 


10  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

Its  coat  of  shabby  black  paint  had  rubbed  off 
in  great  rusty  patches,  which,  together  with  the 
worn  leather  cushions  and  a  shabby  lap-robe,  sug- 
gested the  thought  that  at  some  time  in  its  career 
it  had  been  sadly  afflicted  with  the  mange. 

Into  this  ancient  relic  I  piled  my  two  suit- 
cases; then  Eliza  Haldayne  threaded  her  way 
through  the  work-tide  of  traffic  which  filled  the 
streets.  She  chose  the  San  Bruno  road  out  of 
the  city,  a  thoroughfare  leading  through  the 
Potrero,  San  Francisco's  poorest  quarter.  A 
cold,  raw  fog  had  rolled  in  from  the  ocean,  blur- 
ring the  outlines  of  dismal  little  cottages  stand- 
ing in  the  midst  of  their  goat  pastures.  The 
great  tanneries  and  soap  factories  loomed  indefi- 
nite bulks  in  the  grayness,  only  the  human  nose 
defining  their  presence.  The  shabby  neighbor- 
hood was  one  with  the  shabby  car  rolling  through 
it  and  I  was  swept  along  on  a  great  wave  of 
depression.  In  my  summer-weight  suit  I  shiv- 
ered. For  the  first  time  I  experienced  a  sense  of 
uneasiness  —  foreboding  almost  —  gnawing  in 
the  back  of  my  mind. 

Yet,  even  now,  sitting  here  huddled  at  the  foot 
of  the  great  shadowy  bed  I  had  to  admit  that 
there  was  nothing  in  Eliza  Haldayne's  appear- 
ance to  excite  alarm.  She  was  only  a  large- 
framed,  rather  commonplace  woman  in  an  ugly 
great-coat,  a  shabby  man's-cap  pulled  down  over 


ANN'S  RECEPTION  11 

her  one  beauty,  a  thick  wad  of  coarse,  slightly- 
wavy  gray  hair.  A  typical  New  England  spin- 
ster she  seemed,  with  a  veneer  of  masculinity 
added  through  contact  with  this  Western  land. 
She  had  been  rather  silent  on  the  journey  down 
the  peninsula,  but  I  was  not  loquacious  at  the 
best  of  times  and  we  got  on  well  together.  When 
we  made  a  stop  beside  the  dusty  highway  at  noon, 
and  gnawed  upon  some  thick  and  rather  stale 
cheese  sandwiches  my  employer  rooted  out  from 
the  car's  side  pocket,  I  gleaned  scant  information 
of  my  future.  I  was  to  have  two  charges,  Miss 
Haldayne  volunteered  between  vigorous  chews, 
a  girl  and  a  boy,  children  of  a  dead  younger  sis- 
ter. Who  else  formed  the  family  she  had  not 
vouchsafed  and  I  did  not  ask.  My  reason  was 
now  pouncing  upon  incongruities  in  the  situation 
and,  rather  panic-stricken,  forcing  them  upon  me. 
The  appearance  of  my  employer,  the  disgraceful 
old  car,  this  very  luncheon  of  stale  bread  and 
scraps  of  cheese  When  roadside  cafes  beckoned 
on  all  hands  —  it  was  incompatible  with  the 
really  princely  salary  I  was  to  receive  for  doubt- 
ful ability.  Was  the  lonely  location  of  the  place 
the  only  reason  that  she  had  for  baiting  it  with 
such  tempting  wages? 

All  through  the  long,  warm  day  the  car  had 
limped  south,  down  the  highway.  In  the  late 
afternoon  the  presence  of  fog  once  more  betrayed 


12  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

the  ocean  to  be  not  far  off.  We  had  turned  from 
the  main  road  long  ago  and  were  running  be- 
tween broad,  flat  fields  that  soon  alternated  with 
sandy  patches. 

Now  once  more  memory  prodded  me  to  fearful 
alertness.  There  had  been  one  incident,  which 
at  the  time  I  had  put  down  to  mere  eccentricity 
but  which  now,  viewed  in  the  light  of  that  locked 
door,  took  on  new  meaning. 

Where  the  asphalt  had  ceased  and  the  drifted 
sand  piled  in  little  hummocks  on  the  road,  the 
woman  had  stopped  the  car  and,  climbing  cap- 
ably over  the  back  of  the  front  seat  as  a  man 
might  have  done,  she  began  to  rummage  in  the 
tonneau,  finally  emerging  with  rusty  side  cur- 
tains. 

Involuntarily  I  had  spoken  my  amazement. 
"  Why,  Miss  Haldayne,  the  wind  has  died  down ! 
I  was  thinking  how  nice  and  mild  it  was." 

Even  through  the  thickening  dusk  I  had  seen 
Eliza  Haldayne's  lips  tighten  as  though  she  were 
displeased.  "  I  know  wThat  I  'm  about,"  she 
retorted  tartly.  "  I  guess  I  know  this  coun- 
try better  than  you  do.  Here,  catch  a-hold  that 
corner." 

The  car  had  been  completely  covered  when 
she  finished,  even  to  the  point  of  enclosing  the 
driver's  seat  until  its  occupants  could  not  pos- 
sibly be  recognized  by  one  looking  in  from  the 


ANN'S  RECEPTION  13 

road.  In  the  fog  and  gathering  dusk  this  seemed 
to  me  sheerest  insanity,  but  there  was  a  deter- 
mination in  the  woman's  manner  which  kept  my 
opinions  unspoken.  She  was  working  with  des- 
perate haste  as  though  spurred  on  by  the  dark- 
ness. Subconsciously  my  nerves  responded.  I 
found  myself  glancing  over  my  shoulder,  though 
the  flat,  dusky  country  for  miles  appeared  de- 
serted. 

When  Eliza  Haldayne  climbed  back  to  the 
driver's  seat  and  released  the  brake  it  had  been 
to  urge  the  old  rattle-trap  to  the  limit  of  its 
speed.  At  the  time  I  had  thought  her  only  anx- 
ious to  arrive  home  before  the  road  was  totally 
dark  and  I  blamed  my  own  too-vivid  imagina- 
tion. 

The  car  was  running  then  between  sand-dunes 
and  fields  mixed, —  links,  my  Scotch  ancestors 
would  have  called  them.  A  thick  white  fog  was 
bearing  down  from  above;  a  straggling  growth 
of  lichens  kept  the  sand  from  drifting  and  in 
some  instances  had  thrown  suckers  across  the 
road,  showing  that  it  was  but  little  traveled.  On 
the  curves  a  distant  white  ocean  came  to  view 
through  drifting  fog,  but  it  did  not  hold  my  eyes. 
Despite  my  common  sense,  I  numbly  watched  the 
road  unreel,  shrinking  involuntarily  when  the 
wheels  scrunched  over  the  lichens.  Though  it 
grew  quite  dark,  Miss  Haldayne  did  not  stop  to 


14  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

light  the  lamps.  We  rattled  along  in  the  grow- 
ing blackness,  the  woman  beside  me  driving  as 
though  she  possessed  the  eyes  of  a  cat. 

Not  until  we  were  almost  upon  it  did  I  see  the 
house.  Against  the  background  of  lofty  sand- 
dunes  its  black  bulk  lost  proportion,  but  one 
sensed  its  height.  No  hospitable  light  shone 
from  the  windows :  they  might  have  been  boarded 
up,  for  their  blackness.  In  the  darkness  I  stum- 
bled over  shallow  wooden  steps  leading  to  a 
front  veranda.  There  was  no  way  of  seeing  the 
building's  surroundings;  the  fog  lay  like  wet, 
thick  cotton  on  everything,  blotting  out  the  stars. 
I  was  forced  to  fight  down  a  silly  fit  of  panic, 
panic  of  which  I  was  a  trifle  ashamed  when  the 
front  door  suddenly  opened  and  a  flare  of  lamp- 
light fell  on  our  faces. 

Now,  my  nerves  still  twitching  because  of  that 
inexplainably  locked  door,  I  remembered  that 
Eliza  Haldayne  had  shoved  me  ahead  of  her  into 
the  hall,  with  almost  rude  haste,  and  that  her 
grim  features  had  relaxed  only  when  the  door 
was  safely  bolted  behind  us. 

Here  the  first  peculiarity  of  the  old  house  had 
been  forced  upon  me.  An  amazing  number  of 
lamps,  kerosene  lamps  of  all  sizes  and  descrip- 
tions, blazed  wherever  one  turned.  Far  down 
the  long  hall  we  faced  they  winked  back  at  me; 
twinkling  from  what  seemed  to  be  myriads  of 


ANN'S  EECEPTION  15 

little  wooden  shelves  jutting  out  of  the  walls  to 
hold  them.  Not  a  dark  corner  existed  anywhere ; 
even  the  stairs  leading  to  the  second  floor  were 
lit  —  a  prodigal  waste  of  oil,  and  incongruous 
when  those  stale  cheese  sandwiches  were  recalled. 
The  rooms  branching  on  each  side  of  the  hall 
weltered  in  lamplight,  but  heavy  wooden  shut- 
ters and  thick  hangings  over  the  windows  had 
kept  the  friendly  gleam  from  penetrating  to  us 
outside. 

A  silent  Chinese  servant  grasped  my  suit-cases 
and  disappeared  with  them,  up  a  crooked  flight  of 
stairs;  yet  when,  scarcely  a  minute  later,  we  en- 
tered the  chilly,  high-ceiled  dining-room  it  was 
to  find  him  placidly  waiting  on  the  table. 
Hoang,  I  was  to  discover,  possessed  the  rather 
startling  faculty  of  appearing  to  be  in  two  places 
at  once. 

There  had  been  nothing  at  this  time  to  arouse 
the  wild  speculations  I  now  entertained.  Eliza 
Haldayne  continued  silent,  but  her  silence  had 
lost  its  tense  quality  now,  and  was  merely  that 
of  preoccupation.  The  others,  she  informed  me 
briefly  while  she  chewed  some  cold  meat,  had 
gone  to  bed;  they  kept  early  hours  at  Dune 
House.  Just  who  "  the  others  "  might  be  I  was 
left  to  speculate  in  silence.  Her  preoccupation 
lasted  until  she  had  preceded  me  up  the  crooked 
stairs  and  shown  me  this  shadowy  bedroom  on 


16  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

the  second  floor.  Her  tone,  though  brusk,  was 
kind.  There  was  nothing  to  warn  me  that  I  was 
to  be  locked  as  a  prisoner  in  the  room  as  soon  as 
she  had  left.  Turn  and  grope  as  my  mind  would, 
it  could  find  no  explanation  of  the  mystery  other 
than  eccentricity. 

I  grasped  at  this  straw  of  comfort  eagerly. 
Eccentricity  stops  at  locking  doors.  Neverthe- 
less I  was  taking  no  chances.  All  the  horror- 
stories  I  had  secretly  read  in  childhood,  all  the 
disquieting  tales  of  violence  now  flocked  gleefully 
into  my  quaking  brain.  There  was  that  comfort- 
ing little  legend  of  the  traveler  in  the  lonely  inn 
who  wakes  in  time  to  see  the  canopy  of  the  bed 
descending  to  crush  his  unsuspecting  form. 

I  rose  rather  hastily  and  looked  at  the  bed. 
The  old-fashioned  roll  top  sported  no  canopy, 
but  I  was  not  waiting  for  it  to  grow  one.  With 
grim  determination  I  tugged  a  great  feather  mat- 
tress to  a  far  corner.  If  anything  was  to  enter 
the  room  in  the  night  and  grope  its  way  to  the 
bed,  I  didn't  intend  to  be  there.  My  fingers 
shook  as  I  loosened  the  laces  of  my  shoes.  That 
completed  my  toilet  for  the  night,  for,  after  an 
inward  debate,  I  decided  that  if  I  was  to  be  mur- 
dered in  my  sleep  I  preferred  at  least  to  have  the 
moral  support  of  my  outer  clothes. 

One  other  ray  of  comfort  was  vouchsafed, —  a 
tall  and  heavy  brass  candlestick  whose  maker 


ANN'S  RECEPTION  17 

must  have  foreseen  its  utility  as  a  weapon. 
With  this  in  my  hand  and  a  shaking  little  prayer 
in  my  heart  I  turned  the  lamp  low  and  blew  it 
out. 

As  the  flame  flickered  down  to  a  dim  violet 
glow  I  groped  my  way  to  my  bed  on  the  floor. 
The  damp  smell  of  the  fog  filled  the  room  —  I 
had  opened  the  tall  window  —  but  a  weak, 
watery  moon  was  struggling  to  break  through. 
Even  as  I  huddled  down  in  the  cold  billows  of 
feathers  its  thin  light  triumphed,  the  shadow  of 
the  wire  mesh  grew  on  the  floor. 

With  wide  eyes  I  watched  the  light  wax 
stronger.  It  crept  up,  striking  the  bow-leg  of  a 
chair,  slanting  across  the  foot  of  the  wooden 
bedstead.  Up  the  panels  of  the  door  at  the  far- 
ther end  of  the  chilly  room  it  moved,  until  its 
pale  light  quivered  on  the  brass  knob. 

Then  the  roots  of  my  hair  began  to  tingle,  my 
heart  was  smothered.  Under  my  eyes  that  knob 
turned,  turned  gently,  then  came  silently  to  rest 
again  as  though  a  tentative  hand  made  sure  that 
it  was  still  locked.  There  was  no  sound  either 
inside  or  outside  the  room.  For  what  seemed  an 
eternity  of  time  I  sat  rigidly  upright  among  the 
feather  billows,  my  eyes  glued  to  the  now  motion- 
less knob.  It  was  the  candlestick's  sharp  base 
cutting  into  my  palm  which  finally  forced  my 
attention. 


18  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

With  the  relaxation  of  the  muscles  the  mental 
strain  eased  a  little.  Still  too  tense  even  to 
speculate,  I  cautiously  shifted  to  a  more  restful 
position  and  leaning  back  on  the  pillows  I  fixed 
my  watchful  eyes  on  the  door. 


CHAPTER  II 

JOAN'S    "BLUEBEARD    CHAMBER" 

IN  the  cold  light  of  morning  I  flattened  my  face 
to  the  wire  mesh  covering  the  windows  and 
tried  to  see  the  surroundings  among  which  I  had 
chosen  to  live.  The  house  stood  in  dreary  isola- 
tion in  the  midst  of  interminable  sand-dunes. 
An  unkempt  garden  sloped  beneath  the  window, 
the  steep,  dried  flower  beds  bearing  out  the  deso- 
lation I  had  sensed  last  night.  Only  a  few  scat- 
tered sea-pinks  and  some  lupine  shrubs  —  long 
purple  spikes  of  flowers  swaying  on  gray-green 
twisted  branches,  whose  seeds  had  evidently  been 
blown  in  by  the  wind  —  put  pale  color  in  the 
scene.  A  ragged  evergreen  hedge,  its  seaward 
branches  twisted  and  bare,  edged  the  place.  It 
was  Swinburne's  "  Forsaken  Garden." 

The  sun  burns  sere  and  the  rain  dishevels 
One  gaunt  bleak  blossom  of  scentless  breath. 

Only  the  wind  here  hovers  and  revels 
In  a  round  where  life  seems  barren  as  death. 

The  fog  was  high.     By  flattening  my  face  until 
the  wire  mesh  painted  its  dirty  counterpart  on 

19 


20  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

my  nose  I  caught  glimpses  of  a  small  open  bay 
edged  by  a  dreary,  seaweed-dotted  beach. 

For  a  minute  or  two  I  stood  flattened  there, 
the  dismalness  of  the  scene  soaking  into  my 
spirit.  An  impudent  sea-gull  wheeling  close 
screamed  derisively  at  me  and  turned  me  to 
hunting  for  my  comb  and  brush. 

The  terror  of  the  night  before  had  worn  off. 
Investigation  this  morning  showed  me  that  the 
door  was  unlocked;  the  key  was  on  the  outside. 
Despite  my  terror  sleep  had  stolen  upon  me. 
Sometime  during  the  night,  while  I  lay  in  help- 
less unconsciousness,  some  one  had  stealthily  un- 
locked the  door.  The  thought  was  unpleasant. 
My  indignation  mounted  with  my  hair  and  when 
I  stood  ready  to  go  downstairs  I  was  entirely  in 
possession  of  every  faculty  save  my  temper. 

I  removed  all  signs  of  my  improvised  bed  on 
the  floor,  feeling  a  little  foolish  as  I  did  so.  The 
menace  of  the  shadows  had  disappeared.  The 
room  was  nothing,  now,  more  than  the  upper  bed- 
room of  a  rambling  great  house ;  the  curtains  held 
no  ominous  bulkiness,  the  heavy  furniture  was 
more  frankly  ugly,  less  fearfully  grotesque. 

A  glance  at  the  door  as  I  stepped  into  the  hall 
showed  an  empty  lock.     The  key  was  gone. 

The  upper  hall  appeared  to  stretch  the  length 
of  the  house  and  to  parallel  the  lower  one  I  had 
traversed  last  night.    At  both  ends  it  plunged 


JOAN'S  "BLUEBEAKD  CHAMBER"     21 

down  a  flight  of  steep  and  crooked  stairs.  I 
counted  seven  doors  shut  blindly  on  it,  but  if 
anything  living  lay  behind  them  no  sound  be- 
trayed it.  On  this  floor  I  lingered  only  long 
enough  to  glance  out  at  the  window  in  the  bend 
of  the  stairs.  It  gave  upon  a  dreary  vista  of 
dun-colored  sand-dunes,  billowing  away  into  the 
distance;  and,  like  the  ones  in  my  bedroom,  was 
entirely  covered  by  a  heavy  wire  mesh. 

A  slight  sound  behind  me  whirled  me  about,  all 
nerves.  The  Chinese  servant  I  had  seen  last 
night  was  watching  me,  unpleasantly  close. 
There  was  something  in  his  unsmiling  scrutiny, 
something  hostile  that  I  sensed  in  his  bearing 
that  caused  an  instant  antagonism  to  leap  full 
grown  within  me.  I  don't  like  people  kitty-cat- 
ting up  behind  me  and  said  so  frankly,  finding 
relief  in  speech.  He  waited  stolidly  until  I  had 
finished,  then  informed  me  that  "  Missy  Hal- 
dayne  say  come  breakfast,"  and  glided  ahead  of 
me  to  show  the  way. 

After  the  chill  of  that  red-hung  bedroom  this 
new  scene  was  commonplacely  reassuring.  In 
the  breakfast-room  Eliza  Haldayne  sat  en- 
trenched behind  the  coffee  urn,  clad  in  a  freshly 
starched  and  severe  brown  gingham.  On  her 
right  was  a  drably  blond,  middle-aged  woman 
who  had  reached  the  fat  and  sighing  stage  of 
existence.     On  her  left  two  solemn-faced,  thin 


22  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

children  sat  silently  attacking  their  breakfast 
oatmeal.  A  place  for  me  had  been  laid  at  the 
end  of  the  table. 

Eliza  Haldayne  received  me  with  a  curt  but 
not  unfriendly  nod. 

"  G'  morning.  This  is  my  sister,  Drusilla  Hal- 
dayne, Ann  Belmont,  and  these  are  the  children, 
Joan  and  Harry  Statler." 

It  was  one  of  Miss  Haldayne's  characteristics 
that  she  invariably  dispensed  with  titles.  She 
generally  used  one's  two  names  in  conjunction 
and  threw  the  handles  overboard. 

Miss  Drusilla,  as  I  afterward  came  to  call 
her,  looked  up  with  a  nicker  of  interest  in  her 
large,  languishing  blue  eyes  and  breathed  a  gusty 
welcome.  A  glance  from  her  sister  shut  off  her 
ramblings  and  allowed  me  to  slip  into  my  chair. 
The  children  were  shyly  curious,  their  pale  little 
faces  stretching  out  on  thin  necks,  as  sickly 
plants  stretch  toward  the  sun.  The  surprise  I 
felt  at  their  appearance  amounted  almost  to 
shock.  I  had  pictured  sturdy  young  savages, 
brown  and  hardy  from  tumbling  about  the  sand- 
dunes.  These  youngsters  had  the  appearance  of 
people  too  much  indoors. 

My  polite  attempts  at  conversation  met  with 
no  encouragement.  Meals  were  rather  silent  af- 
fairs at  Dune  House,  I  was  to  discover.  After 
that   first   large-eyed   survey,   the   children   ate 


.  JOAN'S  "BLUEBEAKD  CHAMBER"     23 

steadily,  almost  fearfully,  their  eyes  on  their 
plates,  embarrassed  as  children  will  become  un- 
der too  rigid  control.  Miss  Drusilla's  conversa- 
tion consisted  of  complaints  aimed  at  Hoang, 
carried  on  in  a  monotonous  whining  undertone 
until  the  significance  of  my  name  caught  her 
flickering  interest. 

"Belmont?  I  knew  some  people  of  the  same 
name  once  —  quite  a  prominent  family  they  were. 
They  owned  a  magnificent  home  in  San  Fran- 
cisco. Land,  the  dances  and  balls  I  went  to 
there!  But  that  was  in  other  days."  The  bit- 
terness of  that  last  phrase  stirred  even  my  unini- 
tiated brain  and  a  faint  pity  was  born  in  my 
heart. 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  can't  claim  kin  with  the  rich 
Belmonts,"  I  answered,  trying  to  speak  lightly. 
"  I  've  heard  of  them ;  they  were  prominent  in 
early  California  society." 

"  That 's  the  family !  "  Miss  Drusilla  put  in 
eagerly.  Her  vacant  blue  eyes  lit  up  with  a 
flare  of  interest.  "  There  was  a  brother  of  the 
girls,  a  handsome  young  gallant.  The  girls  used 
to  tease  me  about  him ;  quite  wild  about  me  they 
said  he  was."  She  giggled  insinuatingly  and 
paused  to  take  a  bite  of  bread  and  butter. 

There  was  something  so  grotesque  about  that 
mountain  of  pale,  flabby  flesh  recalling  love- 
affairs  that  I  know  I  stared  rudely.     It  did  not 


24  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

annoy  Miss  Drusilla.  On  the  contrary,  my  too 
frank  expression  was  taken  for  admiring  interest. 
She  nodded  coyly  over  the  bread  and  butter. 

"  That 's  so.  They  were  dreadfully  afraid  that 
he  would  do  something  desperate  when  I  refused 
him;  quite  the  catch  of  the  season  he  was,  too. 
Yellow,  I  wore  the  night  he  proposed,  I  always 
could  wear  yellow  and  you  know  so  many  girls 
look  sallow  in  it.  It  was  made  with  a  bertha  of 
rose-point.  I  remember  a  lovely  Englishman  — 
he  was  a  captain  in  the  Black  Watch  —  told  me 
that  I  looked  like  a  slender  daffodil  — " 

Her  ramblings  abruptly  ran  down  and  jerked 
into  silence.  Eliza  Haldayne  had  turned  her 
prominent  black  eyes  on  her  sister. 

"  Hoang,  more  coffee."  Her  voice  boomed  out 
and  effectually  blocked  conversation. 

When  we  rose  from  the  table  I  intercepted  my 
employer  as  she  was  following  the  others  from 
the  room. 

"Miss  Haldayne,  a  curious  thing  happened 
last  night."  I  strove  to  keep  my  voice  expres- 
sionless. "  Just  after  you  left  my  room  I  tried 
the  door.     It  was  locked  on  the  outside." 

The  black  eyes  before  me  never  wavered.  Nor 
did  my  own.  For  a  brief  moment  we  silently  re- 
garded each  other.  Then  the  woman  spoke 
quietly.  "You  must  be  mistaken,  Ann.  Who 
would  wish  to  lock  you  in  your  room?  " 


JOAN'S  "BLUEBEARD  CHAMBER"      25 

I  answered  as  quietly :  "  I  can't  imagine  what 
their  object  would  be,  Miss  Haldayne.  It 
mustn't  happen  again." 

"  That  door  sticks.  That 's  what  you  mistook 
for  being  locked  in.  I  '11  have  Hoang  fix  it  to- 
day." 

"  Some  one  tried  the  knob  last  night,  after  I 
was  in  bed.     I  saw  it  turn,  in  the  moonlight." 

We  still  held  each  other's  gaze.  u  I  hope  you 
are  n't  going  to  develop  nerves,  Ann." 

"  I  'm  not  afraid."  I  was  inwardly  applaud- 
ing my  noncommittal  tone.  Except  for  the  burn- 
ing of  my  cheeks  my  manner  was  as  composed 
as  that  of  the  woman  before  me.  "  However,  the 
door  must  be  fixed,  so  it  does  n't  —  stick." 

Another  long  stare,  then  the  black  eyes  were 
jerked  away.  "  Of  course,"  she  said  in  a  matter- 
of-fact  tone.  "  Now,  come  with  me  and  I  '11  show 
you  the  children's  room." 

The  children's  room  was  reassuringly  obvious. 
Once  a  sort  of  upstairs  double  parlor,  its  folding- 
doors  were  flung  wide  to  make  it  one  apartment. 
Two  little  beds  graced  an  alcoved  place  at  one 
end,  showing  that  it  served  the  purpose  of  a  com- 
plete nursery. 

As  Miss  Haldayne  left  us  the  two  pale  chil- 
dren came  forward  politely  to  receive  me. 
Again  I  was  overcome  by  the  incongruity  of  their 
frail  little  bodies  and  their  sturdy  surroundings. 


26  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

a  Would  n't  you  like  me  to  take  you  for  a  run 
on  the  beach?  "  I  asked  as  I  put  an  arm  about 
each,  grieved  to  find  how  completely  my  reach 
could  encircle  their  slenderness.  The  sun  was 
breaking  through  the  fog  now  and  I  longed  to 
put  some  life  and  color  into  those  pale  babies. 

They  stood  uneasily  under  the  caress.  Only 
too  evidently  it  was  a  strange  experience  for 
them.     Joan,  the  elder,  finally  spoke: 

"  We  could  n't.  Aunt  Eliza  won't  let  us.  We 
play  in  here  and  sometimes,  when  it 's  nice  and 
bright,  she  lets  us  play  on  the  ocean  veranda  for 
an  hour  or  two." 

"  You  never  go  out !  "  My  amazement  fairly 
exploded  from  me. 

Joan,  a  solemn  little  mite  of  eight,  contented 
herself  with  shaking  her  head,  her  serious  dark 
eyes  fixed  on  my  face  as  though  trying  to  read  my 
expression. 

My  indignation  flared  up.  The  poor  young- 
sters were  virtually  prisoners  in  that  great  dis- 
mal house.  That  explained  the  pale  faces,  the 
macaroni-like  bones.  At  that  moment  Eliza 
Haldayne  became  to  my  indignant  fancy  a  child- 
devouring  ogre.  "  Why,  that 's  absurd !  "  I  was 
bursting  out  unwisely,  when  those  two  steady 
stares  recalled  me. 

"  There  's  lots  of  toys.  Would  you  like  me  to 
show  them  to  you?"     The  little  boy  spoke  in 


JOAN'S  "BLUEBEARD  CHAMBER"     27 

a  monotonously  polite  tone.  "  There's  a  new 
steam-engine  that  runs  around  the  room ;  only  it 
won't  run  any  more.  Maybe  you  could  make  it 
work  if  you  tried." 

He  led  the  way  to  a  great  closet  at  the  end  of 
the  room  and  opened  the  door  to  show  a  conglom- 
eration of  playthings  systematically  stored  with- 
in. I  was  treated  to  another  surprise.  Never 
outside  of  a  toy  shop  had  I  seen  such  an  expen- 
sive array.  A  doll-house  four  feet  high  stood 
complete,  from  the  little  red-brick  chimney  and 
its  "  mahogany  "  dining-room  set  to  the  toy  mop 
standing  behind  the  miniature  kitchen  range. 
Expensive  and  intricate  mechanical  toys  were 
stored  in  Harry's  end  of  the  space.  A  great  doll, 
as  large  as  Joan  herself,  sat  in  a  rocker  and 
stared  at  us  out  of  heavily  fringed  blue  eyes. 

Toys  that  would  make  the  average  child  deliri- 
ous with  delight;  toys  which  must  have  cost  a 
small  fortune  and  which  accorded  ill  with  the 
shabby  automobile  and  the  general  air  of  cheese- 
paring which  overhung  the  rest  of  the  house.  It 
was  as  though  this  means  had  been  taken  to  make 
up  to  the  children  for  their  lost  liberty.  I  was 
compelled  to  revise  my  opinion  of  Miss  Hal- 
dayne.  Surely  she  was  not  indifferent  to  chil- 
dren when  she  bought  them  playthings  such  as 
these !  It  must  be  misdirected  zeal  which  caused 
her  to  keep  the  children  virtual  prisoners. 


28  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

Outside,  in  the  hall,  I  found  her  and  spoke  in 
a  carefully  casual  tone.  "  I  want  to  take  the 
children  for  a  run  on  the  beach,  Miss  Haldayne. 
It 's  a  pity  to  waste  a  fine  day." 

The  woman  paused  in  her  quick,  businesslike 
walk  and  faced  me  squarely,  her  lips  pursed  over 
her  large  square  teeth.  "  I  don't  want  the  chil- 
dren running  around  the  dunes.  No  telling  what 
might  happen  to  them.  Tramps."  She  jerked 
out  the  phrases  characteristically. 

The  obvious  weakness  of  that  emboldened  me 
to  protest. 

"  Why,  there  are  n't  likely  to  be  tramps  on 
this  lonely  shore !  Besides,  I  '11  be  wTith  them  all 
the  time.  The  children  must  have  more  sun, 
Miss  Haldayne.  They  '11  fall  ill  if  they  don't  get 
out  more." 

The  unspoken  accusation  in  my  tone  appeared 
to  make  her  wince  inwardly.  Unconsciously,  as 
I  later  found  out,  I  had  flicked  the  tenderest  spot 
of  her  conscience :  the  fulfilment  of  her  duty. 

Her  prominent  black  eyes  shifted  to  the  mesh- 
covered  window. 

"All  right.  Go  ahead,  then.  But  only  for 
an  hour  and  that  in  the  middle  of  the  day. 
Down  on  the  beach  's  all  right.  Don't  go  out  of 
my  sight.  Don't  take  'em  over  the  dunes,  either. 
Mind  that ;  I  don't  want  them  near  the  dunes  on 


JOAN'S  "BLUEBEARD  CHAMBER"     29 

the  east  of  the  house.  If  you  can't  heed  that 
they  '11  not  go  at  all." 

The  bruskness  of  her  tone  roused  my  indigna- 
tion, but  I  answered  with  all  the  quiet  dignity  at 
my  disposal :  "  I  'm  only  thinking  of  the  chil- 
dren's good,  Miss  Haldayne.  I  have  no  desire  to 
go  any  place  you  forbid." 

Her  eyes  jerked  back  to  me  with  a  glint  of  apol- 
ogetic humor  in  their  black  depths.  "  A  porcu- 
pine can't  grow  ostrich  plumes,"  she  gave  out 
cryptically;  which  was  as  near  an  apology  as 
any  human  being  had  ever  received  from  Eliza 
Haldayne. 

At  the  unusual  prospect  of  a  run  on  the  beach 
the  children  shed  their  gnome-like  strangeness 
and  became  normal  youngsters.  After  one 
abashed  moment  at  the  novelty  of  it,  the  little 
girl  flung  herself  at  my  neck  and  clung  there 
with  an  unchildish  ferocity  that  touched  and 
startled  me. 

"  I  love  you,  I  love  you  lots,  Miss  Belmont !  " 
she  whispered,  almost  fiercely,  down  my  collar. 
"  I  feel  like  girls  in  books  I  've  read.  Oh,  I  'm 
so  happy ! " 

Shaken  almost  to  the  point  of  tears  by  this, 
and  gaining  mental  relief  in  thinking  murderous 
thoughts  of  the  severe  woman  downstairs,  I 
bundled  them  into  their  coats.     The  unexpected 


30  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

liberty  acted  as  a  Moses's  rod  on  their  high 
spirits.  One  each  side  of  me  they  had  begun  to 
chatter  like  little  magpies,  finding  a  hysterical 
relief  in  turning  their  little  brains  inside  out  for 
my  benefit,  heaping  me  with  scraps  of  the  books 
they  had  read,  of  the  queer  mental  games  they 
played  together,  of  all  the  weird  happenings  of 
a  too-precocious  imagination.  I  was  all  the 
more  amazed  to  hear  silence  fall  like  a  blight  on 
each  chattering  voice  and  feel  the  reluctant  lag 
in  their  footsteps  as  I  started  bustling  down  the 
hall  with  them. 

"Why,  what  is  it,  Joan?"  I  asked  the  little 
girl.  The  hall  was  empty,  yet  both  children  were 
staring  down  its  dreary  length  with  wide,  dread- 
ing eyes. 

"  Miss  Belmont,  let 's  go  down  the  other 
stairs."     It  was  Harry  who  piped  up. 

"Why?"  I  asked  curiously.  My  gaze  fol- 
lowed theirs.  My  room  and  theirs  were  located 
at  about  the  center  of  the  hall.  At  one  end  was 
the  crooked  staircase  down  which  I  had  de- 
scended to  breakfast  that  morning.  That  other 
duplicated  it  exactly,  even  to  the  long,  narrow 
red-curtained  window  which  stood  in  the  bend 
midway  and  gazed  sullenly  over  lupine-dotted 
sand-dunes. 

There  was  nothing  else,  so  far  as  I  could  see; 
yet  the  children  had  come  to  a  dead  stop  and 


JOAN'S  "  BLUEBEARD  CHAMBER  "     31 

their  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  staircase  in  fasci- 
nated horror. 

"  Why,  Harry?  Why  should  we  use  the  other 
stairs?  " 

This  time  it  was  Joan  who  replied,  her  eyes 
still  focussed  in  dread.  "  There  's  a  room  at  the 
bottom  we  must  n't  go  into.  Harry  and  I  call  it 
Bluebeard's  Chamber." 

"WThy  mustn't  you  go  in?"  I  was  secretly 
proud  of  the  humorous  off-handedness  of  my  tone, 
which  gave  no  suspicion  of  the  fearful  thrill 
that  overswept  me  at  that  awed  little  whisper. 

Joan  shook  her  head.  "Aunt  Eliza  told  us 
that  we  never  must.  And  she  looked  so  —  so 
angry  and  she  frowned  so,  that  we  were  scared." 

"  Of  course  it 's  right  for  you  to  obey  your 
aunt,"  I  came  back  righteously.  "  She  probably 
had  some  good  reason  for  not  wanting  you  in 
there,  but  I  don't  think  you  need  be  afraid." 

They  shook  their  heads  in  concert,  not  in  the 
least  reassured.  "  Nobody  7s  allowed  to  go  there, 
—  Aunt  Drusilla  neither.  Hoang  never  goes 
there.  Only  Aunt  Eliza,  one  day.  Harry  dared 
me  and  I  tiptoed  to  the  stairs  and  hid  behind  the 
window-curtain.  I  said  I  wasn't  afraid,  but  I 
was.  And  I  looked  between  a  little  slit  in  the 
curtain  down  at  the  door  of  the  Bluebeard  Cham- 
ber. It  was  sort  of  dark  down  there.  Then  I 
heard  some  one  open  the  door  and  I  thought  I  'd 


32  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

nearly  die,  but  it  was  only  Aunt  Eliza  coming 
out.  She  looked  awful  cross  and  I  ran  upstairs 
and  down  the  hall  to  our  room  as  fast  as  I  could. 
I  felt  like  I  was  going  to  die  and  my  heart  beat 
like  anything." 

It  was  a  relief  to  the  high-strung  child  to 
pour  out  to  an  older  person  the  crammings  of  her 
fearful  little  brain. 

u  But  when  the  door  was  open,  could  you  see 
in  back  of  your  aunt?     Into  the  room?  " 

I  knew  that  I  should  not  have  asked  this  of 
those  trusting  youngsters,  but  my  own  curiosity 
was  growing  alarmingly. 

Joan  shook  her  head;  her  voice  was  a  scared 
whisper.  "  I  could  n't  see  good,  I  was  so  scared. 
Afterward  I  tried  to  remember,  to  tell  it  to 
Harry.  It  was  all  dark.  It  looked  like  the  shut- 
ters were  fastened  over  the  windows,  and  all  I 
could  see  was  something  all  shiny,  like  a  terrible 
face.  It  looked  straight  at  me.  Oh-h ! "  She 
shivered. 

In  spite  of  myself  the  words  sent  a  chill  along 
my  own  backbone.  "You  must  have  imagined 
it,  dear.  It  is  probable  your  aunt  has  the  room 
shut  up  only  to  save  cleaning."  I  guessed  with 
false  heartiness.  But  my  tone  did  not  convince 
myself,  let  alone  those  frightened  youngsters. 

We  descended  the  other  stairs  to  the  lower 
floor.     The  broad  lower  veranda  was  deserted; 


JOAN'S  "BLUEBEARD  CHAMBER  "     33 

the  sun  had  conquered  the  last  of  the  fog  army 
and  lay  reassuringly  warm  and  golden  on  the 
weather-stained  boards.  The  fierce  winds  which 
rose  every  afternoon  were  sleeping  as  yet;  the 
dunes  stretched  in  tawny  drowsiness  under  the 
arch  of  a  lapis  lazuli  sky.  Twisting  and  turning 
until  it  was  lost  in  the  distant  haze  stretched  the 
road  we  had  traveled  last  night,  a  dun-colored 
ribbon  between  hummocks  of  sand.  The  ocean 
was  running  high  and  green ;  the  ugly  stretch  of 
beach  which  bordered  the  little  bay  at  low  tide 
was  covered.  The  scene  was  not  without  a  cer- 
tain lonely  charm  this  morning. 

Freed  from  the  house's  depressing  atmosphere, 
the  children  chirped  like  shivering  little  spar- 
rows thawing  in  the  sun.  My  own  spirits 
bounded  upward.  I  had  let  my  imagination  run 
away  with  my  common  sense,  Reason  scolded. 
That  episode  of  the  locked  door  was  doubtless 
the  peculiarity  of  an  eccentric  countrywoman. 
Miss  Drusilla  certainly  suggested  no  mystery. 
The  children  had  worked  a  fascinating  but  ridic- 
ulous mystery  about  a  locked  room;  I  was  here 
to  curtail  that  tendency  in  them,  not  to  encour- 
age it. 

Strong  with  a  mightly  carelessness,  I  shot  a 
half -challenging  glance  over  my  shoulder  at  the 
old  building  basking  in  the  growing  heat. 

It   stared   insolently   back  with   blank   sun- 


34  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

flooded  eyes.  The  front  veranda  was  still  de- 
serted, but  my  gaze  was  drawn  to  the  out  jutting 
bay-window  of  the  parlor  on  the  corner.  Half 
hidden  though  she  was  by  the  velvet  hangings,  I 
recognized  the  great  square  form  of  Eliza  Hal- 
dayne, — not,  as  one  might  think,  looking  after 
the  skipping  forms  of  the  children,  but  with  head 
turned  fearfully,  unwaveringly  upon  the  eastern 
sand-dunes  of  which  she  had  warned  us. 


CHAPTER  III 

SHADOWS   OF   FEAR 

TRYING  to  write  consecutively  of  the  events 
of  my  first  few  weeks  at  Dune  House,  I  find 
myself  baffled.  There  were  no  events,  to  be 
strictly  truthful.  The  every-day  tasks  of  teach- 
ing and  playing  with  the  children ;  of  first  listen- 
ing to,  then  trying  to  avoid  Miss  Drusilla's  fatu- 
ous and  tiresome  ramblings,  and  reading  the 
books  I  had  brought  down  with  me,  can  hardly 
come  under  that  head.  As  to  the  mystery  which 
I  felt  underlying  everything,  that  knowledge  of 
something  wrong  which  I  had  sensed  since  the 
first  night  of  my  arrival,  it  refused  to  come  out 
into  the  open  with  any  one  happening,  but 
skulked  behind  every  word  and  every  action  with 
maddening  vagueness. 

After  that  one  passage  of  words  between  us, 
Miss  Haldayne  raised  no  objection  to  my  taking 
the  children  for  a  run  on  the  beach  each  day. 
And  though  the  sight  of  her,  always  half  con- 
cealed behind  the  hangings  of  the  bay-win- 
dow when  I  did  so,  gnawed  irritatingly  at  my 

35 


36  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

nerves,  I  did  not  appear  to  notice;  nor  did  I 
allow  it  to  turn  me  from  my  purpose. 

For  a  long  time  I  could  not  classify  the  vague 
emotion  which  appeared  to  underlie  the  actions 
of  the  three  adults.  At  the  quiet  meals,  broken 
only  by  flabby  Miss  Drusilla' s  rambling  mono- 
logues or  Miss  Haldayne's  curt  orders  to  Hoang, 
I  tried  to  analyze  it. 

Relations  between  the  two  sisters,  it  was  easy 
to  see,  were  strained;  in  fact,  they  had  reached 
the  stage  of  actual  dislike,  garrulous  and  spiteful 
on  Miss  Drusilla's  part,  contemptuous  on  Miss 
Haldayne's.  One  felt  it  as  an  almost  tangible 
undercurrent.  Though  obviously  afraid  of  her 
sister,  Miss  Drusilla  took  the  delight  of  a  mis- 
chievous child  in  irritating  her  with  trifles, — 
gnat  stings  which  the  older  woman  brushed  im- 
patiently away,  pausing  to  take  a  determined 
slap  at  them  only  when  plagued  beyond  endur- 
ance. 

At  first  this  rather  amused  me.  Later,  it  got 
on  my  nerves.  My  first  pity  for  Miss  Drusilla 
had  given  way  to  a  very  whole-hearted  exaspera- 
tion, once  she  had  trailed  me  about  the  house, 
pouring  her  wThining  complaints  in  my  ears. 
She  had  cause  enough  for  them,  poor  woman, 
but  it  was  impossible  to  see  that  jellyfish-like 
mound  of  flesh  giving  itself  the  airs  and  graces 
of  a  coquettish  young  beauty  without  becoming 


SHADOWS  OF  FEAR  37 

annoyed.  The  only  time  I  had  ever  caught  Miss 
Haldayne  in  anything  save  a  preoccupied  alert- 
ness had  been  an  afternoon  when  I  tried  unsuc- 
cessfully to  turn  Miss  Drusilla's  conversation 
from  her  droned  recollections  of  social  triumphs. 
My  answers  had  degenerated  into  perfunctory 
monosyllables,  a  fact  which  mattered  not  in  the 
least  to  the  flabby  creature  who  had  fastened 
upon  me,  octopus  fashion,  and  was  determined 
to  drain  me  of  the  last  vestige  of  interest. 

Looking  up  in  exasperation,  I  saw  Eliza  Hal- 
dayne watching  us  from  the  door  of  the  shadowy 
dining-room.  That  swift  upward  glance  of  mine 
surprised  a  sardonic  gleam  of  humor  in  her  black 
eyes. 

It  was  only  for  a  second ;  then  she  had  turned 
on  her  broad  heel  and  left  us,  but  that  brief  in- 
stant had  flung  an  invisible  bond  between  us. 
I  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  rare  human  side 
and  ever  after  that  she  seemed  more  approach- 
able, less  severely  capable. 

Later  I  was  to  have  further  revealment  of  this 
side  of  her  character.  That  night,  when  the  chil- 
dren were  in  bed,  she  entered  the  room  where  I 
sat  reading  and  stood  rather  grimly  regarding 
me.  She  had  something  on  her  mind.  It  came 
out  abruptly.  There  was  little  beating  about 
the  bush  with  Eliza  Haldayne. 

"  Do  you  think  my  sister  ?s  pretty?  " 


38  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

That  term,  in  connection  with  the  creature  i 
had  disrespectfully  named  in  secret  the  "  white 
rabbit,"  brought  me  up  gasping. 

"  Lord,  no !  "  I  brought  it  forth  with  unflat- 
tering sincerity. 

The  other  woman  regarded  me  musingly. 
"Hum-m-m.  Not  now,  perhaps.  Look  in 
there." 

She  pointed  a  spatulate  finger  at  a  faded  blue- 
plush  covered  album  which  occupied  an  honored 
and  isolated  place  on  the  lower  shelf  of  a  hide- 
ously carved  what-not.  Obediently  I  opened  the 
fat  volume. 

There  was  the  usual  collection  of  homely  and 
self-conscious  strangers  encased  in  the  gold  fili- 
gree, bewhiskered  men  with  too  much  neck  and 
too  little  collar,  women  with  frizzed  hair,  clothed 
in  basques  and  balloon  sleeves;  an  old  man  with 
fierce  bright  eyes  peering  from  a  jungle  of  side 
whiskers  whom  I  took  to  be  the  father  of  them 
both;  the  likeness  of  a  slender  half -grown  girl 
so  much  like  Joan  that  I  knew  it  for  her  mother, 
then  two  pictures,  side  by  side  on  the  page,  which 
left  me  gasping.  How  they  managed  to  be  so 
different,  yet  at  the  same  time  so  cruelly  alike,  I 
could  r\ot  say.  A  beautiful  fair-haired  young 
woman  looked  up  at  me  from  clear,  childish  eyes. 
The  fresh  young  face  was  perfect  in  contour  and, 
one  judged,  perfect  in  coloring.     The  neck  rose 


SHADOWS  OF  FEAR  39 

flower-like  from  the  elaborate  ruffle  of  an  evening 
dress.  Opposite,  in  cruel  contrast,  was  a  photo- 
graph of  the  other  sister  taken  apparently  at 
the  same  time.  The  fierce  black  eyes  burned  as 
zealously  as  they  did  now;  the  mouth  was  stub- 
born and  wide,  the  thin  face  surmounted  an  un- 
compromising linen  collar.  But  this  my  eyes 
took  in  only  briefly ;  like  a  steel  to  the  magnet 
the  flower-like  beauty  of  the  other  face  drew  and 
held  them. 

"  That  —  that  can't  be  Miss  Drusilla!"  and 
my  tone  had  an  unflattering  edge  of  amazement 
upon  it. 

Though  her  expression  had  not  changed,  I 
knew  that  my  shocked  disbelief  had  not  dis- 
pleased Miss  Haldayne. 

"  She  was  twenty-five  then.  She  was  beau- 
tiful." 

"  Yes,  she  was  beautiful  —  then,"  I  stammered, 
staring  at  the  picture  in  fascination.  Before  my 
eyes  the  round  girlish  chin  multiplied,  the  soft 
cheeks  became  jowls,  the  firm  sweet  neck  grew 
gross  and  flabby.  I  closed  the  book  with  a  queer 
repulsion  and  found  that  Miss  Haldayne  had  left 
the  room. 

"  One  thing  sure,  Ann  Belmont,"  I  told  myself 
in  triumph  that  night  as  I  piled  into  the  great 
wooden  bed,  "  you  've  discovered  Miss  Hal- 
dayne's   weak    spot.     She   was   jealous   of   her 


40  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

beautiful  sister  in  days  gone  by  and  the  habit 's 
become  chronic.  Grotesque  as  it  sounds,  she's 
still  jealous  of  that  flabby  mountain  of  flesh." 

For  a  long  time  I  remained  awake,  lost  in  the 
enormousness  of  the  bed,  watching  the  weak 
moon  stamp  the  reflection  of  the  meshed  window 
on  the  faded  carpet  as  I  tried  to  picture  the  life 
of  the  sisters  years  before.  Miss  Haldayne's 
words  when  she  engaged  me  floated  back  now 
with  new  meaning :  "  You  're  not  pretty  —  I 
can't  stand  a  pretty  fool." 

I  could  imagine  childish  slights  piling  up ;  the 
pettings  and  luxuries  ever  awarded  the  pretty 
child  while  the  iron  entered  the  starved,  lonely 
soul  of  the  other. 

"  But  it  was  something  deeper  than  that/* 
I  sagely  protested.  Childhood  slights  alone 
never  brought  that  look  into  Miss  Haldayne's 
eyes.  What  did  two  women  ever  quarrel  over, 
deeply,  bitterly?  What  but  a  man?  One  had 
attracted  where  the  other  had  not.  Apparently 
neither  had  won.  "It  was  a  man!"  I  assured 
myself  solemnly,  more  than  a  little  pleased  at  my 
Sherlock  Holmes  qualifications.  "Good  Lord, 
what  a  scene  they  must  have  raised  between 
them ! "  And  satisfied  with  my  solution,  I 
turned  over  and  went  to  sleep. 

From  then  on  I  sensed  the  undercurrent  of 
antagonism  more  keenly.     So  intent  was  I  in 


SHADOWS  OF  FEAR  41 

reading  into  the  actions  of  the  sisters  my  own 
suspicions  that  I  lost  sight  of  those  other  mys- 
teries which  had  baffled  me.  Throughout  one 
morning  of  teaching  Joan  and  Harry,  the  im- 
pulse to  search  the  old  album  for  some  loose 
thread  to  the  solution  tortured  me.  I  found  my- 
self watching  the  clock,  waiting  for  school  hours 
to  be  over,  that  I  might  hurry  to  the  little  sitting- 
room  where  it  lay  on  the  carved  what-not. 

With  the  daily  run  on  the  sand,  since  my 
advent  as  playmate  and  confidante,  the  young- 
sters had  developed  into  more  normal  beings 
and  after  their  study  time  they  called,  with  the 
tyranny  of  the  average  child,  for  a  promised 
romp.  My  intention  became  more  deeply  rooted 
the  more  it  was  postponed  and  I  slipped  away 
at  the  first  chance,  flushed  and  breathless  from  a 
pillow-fight,  slid  into  the  hall,  and  sped  wildly 
to  the  staircase  before  my  tormentors  should  dis- 
cover and  follow. 

I  took  the  stairs  two  at  a  time,  but  silently. 
The  door  —  much  to  my  surprise,  for  the  room 
was  used  as  a  small  sitting-room  by  both  sisters 
—  was  closed.  It  had  always  stood  ajar  before 
this,  its  sedate  old  furniture,  fetched  from 
"around  the  Horn/'  grouped  primly  around  a 
marble-topped  center-table.  I  was  about  to 
grasp  the  knob,  knowing  that  neither  Miss  Hal- 
dayne  nor  her  sister  was  liable  to  be  in  it  at 


42  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

this  hour  of  the  day;  when  a  smothered  shriek 
from  the  shadowy  hall  behind  me  suspended  my 
hand  in  mid-air  and  set  my  scalp  a-tingle. 

"  Not  in  there !  Never  go  in  there !  "  It  was 
Miss  Drusilla's  voice  and  it  was  edged  with  genu- 
ine fright. 

I  wheeled,  to  find  her  regarding  me,  white- 
faced  and  breathless,  from  the  dark  depths  of  a 
small  linen  closet. 

In  my  headlong  rush  to  escape  Joan  and  Harry 
I  had  bolted  down  the  wrong  stairs  and  my  hand 
had  been  on  the  knob  of  the  forbidden  room.  The 
pile  of  sheets  dropped  to  the  floor  in  her  agitation 
showed  what  Miss  Drusilla's  occupation  had 
been.  NowT  she  bent  and  automatically  recov- 
ered them.  Even  her  wheezing  held  a  frightened 
note.  As  for  me,  my  heart  was  beating  high,  but 
I  brazoned  it  out. 

"  It 's  my  mistake.  I  got  mixed  on  the  stair- 
cases.    I  meant  to  go  into  the  sitting-room." 

Miss  Drusilla  now  creaked  over  to  me,  the 
sheets  clasped  in  her  arms,  making  her  more 
tremendous  than  ever. 

"Ann,  don't  let  Miss  Haldayne  know  you 
started  to  open  that  door.  Of  course  it 's  locked 
anyway,  but  still  — " 

u  Why?  "  I  could  n't  resist  putting  in. 

"  My  sister  does  n't  like  it.  She  won't  let  any 
one  go  in  there." 


SHADOWS  OF  FEAR  43 

"  Why?  "  I  asked  again.  It  was  rude,  but  I 
was  so  filled  with  curiosity  as  to  be  indifferent, 
for  the  time  being,  to  good  manners. 

The  woman  was  making  obvious  efforts  to 
draw  me  from  the  fatal  door  lest  her  sister  ap- 
pear on  the  stairway  above  us.  "  I  don't  know 
why/'  and  her  voice  was  almost  tearfully  agi- 
tated. "  But  don't  go  near  there,  Ann.  Miss 
Haldayne  will  be  furious." 

So  evident  was  her  distress  that  I  let  her  lead 
me  away,  catching  the  contagion  of  her  fear  as 
we  passed  along  the  dark  hall. 

At  the  door  of  the  sitting-room  she  turned,  the 
light  from  the  window  falling  on  her  dough-like 
face.  She  was  more  composed,  though  her 
breathing  was  still  a  heavy  wheeze.  She  spoke 
with  a  ludicrous  attempt  at  dignity,  as  though  to 
counterbalance  the  terror  she  had  shown. 

"  There  's  nothing,  of  course,  to  be  excited  over. 
It 's  just  a  room  we  never  use  and  my  sister  has 
shut  it  up.  It 's  only  a  whim  of  hers,  but  we 
never  cross  it ;  she  's  rather  set  in  her  ways,  you 
know,  Ann." 

I  did  know  and  as  she  left  me  I  turned  and 
walked  slowly  upstairs  to  the  children  again,  all 
thoughts  of  searching  the  old  album  driven  from 
my  head. 

The  days  which  followed  alternated  for  me 
between  exciting  dread  and  a  scornful  ridicule 


44  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

of  myself  when  I  thought  I  was  seeing  mystery 
where  none  existed. 

u  You  're  a  fool,  my  dear  Ann/'  I  would  tell 
myself  severely.  "  What  have  you  to  build  your 
suspicions  upon  save  two  impolite  and  unpleas- 
ant elderly  women,  two  pale  youngsters  kept  too 
much  indoors  from  misdirected  zeal,  a  door  locked 
upon  you  once  —  unpleasant,  certainly,  but  not 
fatal  —  and  an  old  room  shut  from  the  rest  of 
the  house?  " 

And  for  a  brief  spell  it  seemed  that  I  had 
called  the  turn.  One  day's  program  was  mad- 
deningly like  the  rest.  The  entire  household 
rose  at  seven-thirty  and  thirty  minutes  later  ate 
breakfast  together  in  the  breakfast-room  on  the 
ocean  side  of  the  house.  Hoang,  though  I  had 
never  recovered  from  my  first  dislike  of  him,  I 
had  to  admit  was  an  ideal  servant.  How  he 
managed  to  cook  the  food  and  at  the  same  time 
serve  it  so  punctiliously  I  could  never  under- 
stand. His  blue-linened,  silent  figure  was  al- 
ways in  attendance  whenever  one  put  out  one's 
hand  for  an  article. 

From  nine  to  ten  I  trotted  the  children  on  the 
beach,  putting  them  through  a  brisk  race  that 
sent  our  circulation  tingling.  Joan  was  devel- 
oping golden  freckles  on  her  round  childish  nose 
and  Harry  was  more  like  a  normal  boy,  less  like 
a  six-year-old  ghost.     The  wind  and  the  sun 


SHADOWS  OF  FEAR  45 

was  changing  me,  as  well.  Standing  before  my 
mirror  one  day,  noting  the  yellow  glints  the  sun 
had  coaxed  into  my  wind-ruffled  hair,  the  loss 
of  the  dark  circles  of  anxiety  about  my  eyes,  the 
natural  oval  of  my  face  complied  by  wholesome 
food  and  unbroken  rest  at  night,  I  thought  re- 
sentfully that  Miss  Haldayne  needn't  have 
laid  quite  so  much  emphasis  on  my  lack  of  pretti- 
ness  the  day  she  engaged  me. 

School  hours  took  up  the  time  to  one-thirty. 
A  sort  of  story-telling  game,  lessons  had  degen- 
erated into,  warranted  to  raise  the  hands  of  the 
orthodox  in  holy  horror.  But  allowance  should 
be  made ;  ex-stenographers  cannot  be  expected  to 
proceed  along  the  line  of  attack  adopted  by  the 
regulation  schoolmarm,  and  oddly  enough  the 
children  did  seem  to  be  learning  something  under 
my  instruction. 

At  two-thirty  Miss  Drusilla  could  be  heard 
wheezing  heavily  along  the  hall  to  her  bedroom. 
One  was  likely  to  find  Miss  Haldayne  flying  up 
and  down  the  lower  hall  armed  with  dust-cloth 
or  broom,  preoccupied,  her  lips  pursed  over  her 
large  square  teeth  while  she  hummed  a  tuneless 
little  tune  like  the  droning  of  an  extremely  busy 
bee.  While  she  was  never  anything  save  brusk, 
her  manner  was  not  unkind.  I  think  in  her  pe- 
culiar way  she  had  become  rather  fond  of  me, 
though  her  affection  was  absolutely  free  from 


46  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

demonstration,  one  way  or  the  other.  Only  to 
Hoang  and  me  was  vouchsafed  this  impersonal 
approval,  as  though  in  her  own  mind  we  were 
accepted  as  intellectual  peers. 

Being  thus  classed  with  the  Oriental  was 
hardly  flattering.  To  save  my  soul  I  could  not 
help  regarding  him  with  a  vague  dislike,  with 
suspicion;  though  of  what  I  suspected  him,  it 
would  be  hard  to  say.  There  was  something  in 
his  suddenly  materializing  behind  you  when  he 
was  thought  to  be  at  the  other  end  of  the  house, 
something  in  the  shock  of  raising  your  eyes  to 
find  his  unwinking  black  ones  scrutinizing  you, 
which  was  disconcerting,  to  put  it  mildly. 

Even  Miss  Drusilla,  though  generally  oblivious 
of  everything  save  her  own  verbal  ramblings,  un- 
consciously sensed  this  and  made  no  attempt  to 
conceal  her  antipathy  to  "  that  heathen  "  as  she 
called  him.  This  term  was  a  little  unfair,  as  1 
discovered  one  day  when  I  passed  Hoang's  half- 
opened  door  and  caught  a  quick  flash  of  the  worn 
Bible  which  lay  on  his  corner  table. 

The  only  change  in  our  daily  program  occurred 
when  Miss  Haldayne  made  a  trip  in  the  machine 
to  the  nearest  town  for  supplies.  For  days  be- 
fore this  would  happen  I  could  sense  a  rigidly 
concealed  dread  in  her  mind,  a  grim  buckling  up 
to  some  disagreeable  task  which  must  be  done. 
It  was  always  early  morning  when  she  started, 


SHADOWS  OF  FEAR  47 

very  early,  for  she  was  missing  from  breakfast  at 
such  times,  and  in  the  full  glare  of  afternoon  the 
old  machine  would  be  seen  limping  on  its  return 
trip  along  the  lichen-grown  road  winding  through 
the  sand-dunes.  After  such  times  I  thought  I 
could  detect  a  visible  relief  in  her  face  and  voice, 
as  though  some  danger  had  been  safely  rounded. 

Her  self-control  was  marvelous.  She  was  one 
of  those  stoical  women  who  look  upon  a  con- 
fession of  troubles  as  a  sign  of  weakness.  That 
was  why  I  was  the  more  amazed  when  she  sud- 
denly stopped  me  one  morning  as  I  was  leaving 
the  deserted  breakfast-table. 

Miss  Drusilla  ambled  on,  her  creaking  corsets 
appearing  to  protest  on  their  own  account.  The 
children  had  run  ahead;  we  were  alone.  I 
thought  my  employer  was  about  to  make  some 
comment  on  my  method  with  the  children  and  a 
trifle  uneasily  I  was  reviewing  the  past  weeks  in 
my  mind.  Then  I  raised  my  eyes  to  hers  as  she 
turned  from  the  window  to  face  me.  I  almost 
recoiled  visibly.  Her  face  was  tense  and  gray 
with  fright. 


CHAPTER  IV 

WATCHING 

THE  clatter  of  Harry's  heavy  little  shoes  on 
the  uncarpeted  parts  of  the  stairs  floated 
back  into  the  breakfast-room  and  was  the  only 
sound  to  break  the  strained  silence.  The  sight 
of  the  generally  stoical  woman  before  me  so  un- 
mistakably shaken,  set  my  cowardly  spirit  atrem- 
ble  within  me  and  I  had  great  trouble  keeping 
my  face  expressionless. 

I  must  have  been  successful,  for  Miss  Haldayne 
spoke  abruptly  as  soon  as  the  last  faint  scuffle 
told  that  the  children  had  reached  the  upper  hall. 
Her  forehead  was  more  deeply  creased  than  usual, 
but  her  tone  was  grim  and  her  words  as  acid  as 
ever: 

"  Ann,  are  you  one  of  those  busy  people  who 
have  to  stick  their  noses  into  everything  and 
have  a  black-and-white  explanation  of  everything 
before  they  do  it?  " 

My  craven  soul  was  shaking,  but  I  answered 
this  cryptic  question  stoutly  enough : 

48 


WATCHING  49 

"  I  hope  not,  Miss  Haldayne.  It  does  n't 
sound  pleasant.     Why?  " 

"  Will  you  help  me?  —  do  me  a  favor?  "  She 
put  it  grudgingly  enough,  running  true  to  a  life- 
long habit  of  conferring  and  desiring  no  favors. 

"  If  I  can."  I  was  secretly  proud  of  my  non- 
committal tone. 

"  I  want  you  to  stand  in  the  bay-window  in 
the  back  parlor  and  watch  the  sand-dunes  toward 
the  east.  I  'm  watching  the  front  —  I  know  you 
saw  me  —  but  I  have  n't  eyes  in  the  back  of  my 
head  and  I  can't  watch  two  places  at  once." 

"  Why  in  the  world  do  you  do  it?  "  was  on  the 
tip  of  my  indiscreet  tongue,  but  luckily  I  remem- 
bered and  changed  it  to  a  quiet,  "  And  if  I  see 
anything?  "  • 

I  received  an  approving  glance.  "  Tell  me,  of 
course." 

She  led  the  way  through  the  hall  to  the 
gloomy  back  parlor.  I  followed,  heart  pounding, 
face  rigidly  wooden,  imagination  aflame  and  run- 
ning wildly  once  more. 

At  this  early  hour  the  side  of  the  house  was 
in  deep  shadow.  The  room  was  austere  and  cold, 
the  solemn  black  walnut  furniture  stared  un- 
bendingly back  at  me.  The  high  lights  of  the 
glass  of  half-seen  pictures  on  the  wall  were  un- 
pleasantly reminiscent  of  Joan's  "shiny  thing." 

Outside  the  sun  had  broken  through  the  fog 


50  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

and  the  dunes  already  swam  in  an  ocean  of  light. 
My  mind  was  clamoring  to  know  the  reason  for 
all  this  mystery,  but  any  spoken  curiosity  had 
been  effectively  blocked  by  that  remark  anent 
"busy  people." 

Here  Miss  Haldayne  ensconced  me  behind  the 
curtain.  My  figure  would  be  hidden  to  any  one 
looking  up  from  outside,  by  the  half-folded-back 
shutter.  My  gaze  was  focussed  through  the  wire 
mesh  to  the  trackless  sand. 

It  was  very  still  and  a  little  awesome  when 
Miss  Haldayne  had  left,  securely  shutting  the 
door  which  led  to  the  hall.  The  thickness  of  the 
walls  kept  any  reassuring  household  noises  from 
penetrating.  I  was  shut  in  with  the  heavy  old 
furniture  and  the  unpleasant  high  lights  and 
was  apparently  as  inanimate  as  they.  A  slow 
chill  began  at  the  base  of  my  spine  and  crept 
disquietingly  up  to  my  hair.  I  resolutely  turned 
my  eyes  out  the  window  lest  I  develop  those 
"  nerves  "  which  so  roused  Miss  Haldayne's  ire. 

The  sand  had  drifted  high  against  the  house  on 
this  side  and  was  a  bare  six  feet  below  the  win- 
dow. From  there  it  billowed  away  as  far  as  the 
eye  could  reach,  a  tawny  ocean,  petrified  as  it 
wras  about  to  break  into  waves. 

Hidden  in  the  curtains,  I  kept  my  eyes  fastened 
on  the  waste  until  the  muscles  ached  and  little 
flashes   and   swirls  of  light  swam   before  me. 


WATCHING  51 

What  was  I  watching  for?  What  was  out  there 
hidden  in  the  dunes,  that  "  something "  Miss 
Haldayne  feared?  She  was  no  ordinary  woman 
to  take  fright  for  a  trifle.  It  must  be  a  very 
real  danger  which  led  to  these  precautions.  I 
found  myself  seeking  out  the  likely  hiding-places 
within  my  view;  finding  a  disquieting  number 
of  them, —  places  for  a  body  to  press  flat  to  the 
hot  sand,  or  squat  cautiously  with  only  the  head 
in  view. 

What  was  it  Joan  had  said  she  saw  in  the 
secret  room? — "something  all  shiny,  like  a  ter- 
rible face"?  The  words  carried  a  chill  with 
them.  Unconsciously  the  notion  persisted  until 
that  became  the  thing  for  which  I  was  looking, 
out  there  in  the  dunes.  I  could  imagine  it  star- 
ing back  at  me,  something  less  than  human,  ani- 
mated by  some  diabolic  form  of  life;  seeing  me 
plainly  despite  the  shielding  shutter  and  the 
wire  mesh,  enjoying  with  gleeful  malice  the  false- 
ness of  my  fancied  security  and  chuckling  to  it- 
self in  the  concealing  bunch-grass. 

What  could  it  be,  there  in  the  secret  room? 
persisted  my  brain.  Was  there  some  connection 
between  it  and  this  apparently  aimless  watching? 
What  could  Joan  have  mistaken  for  "  something 
all  shiny,  like  a  terrible  face"?  Was  there  in 
that  room  something  living?  —  something  that 
Miss  Haldayne  alone  visited? 


52  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

The  crawl  up  my  spine  grew  to  an  enormous 
shiver  and  in  desperation  I  turned  my  eyes  rig- 
idly on  the  dunes,  striving  to  keep  my  mind  a 
blank. 

The  shadow  of  the  house  shortened,  the  sun 
crept  insidiously  up  and  around.  The  dunes 
seemed  to  gasp  under  the  glare,  their  black, 
abrupt  reflections  becoming  less  and  less  as  noon 
approached.  In  all  the  landscape  there  was  not 
a  breath;  nothing  moved;  the  earth  was  a  pros- 
trate, exhausted  thing  cooped  beneath  the  brazen 
bowl  of  the  sky.  The  soft  swish  of  the  ocean 
did  not  penetrate  here;  the  dunes  brooded  in 
awful,  heat-laden  stillness. 

My  back  ached  from  the  straight-backed  chair, 
my  eyes  were  growing  heavy  from  staring  into 
the  gleaming  waste.  I  found  myself  slumped 
forward,  my  forehead  pressed  hard  against  the 
wooden  leaves  of  the  shutter.  I  had  slept.  Af- 
ter that  I  disobeyed  Miss  Haldayne's  orders 
never  to  cease  watching  for  a  moment,  and  took  a 
brisk  trot  about  the  room.  This  stalled  off  sleep 
for  a  while  and  I  resumed  my  seat  behind  the 
curtains,  determined  to  see  the  day  through  no 
matter  how  dreary. 

The  scene  outside  was  unchanged,  save  that 
the  sand  hummocks  had  begun  to  cast  slight 
black  shadows  on  the  other  side.  The  heat  was 
unabating;  a  cloud  of  gnats  danced  drowsily  just 


WATCHING  53 

outside  the  window.     It  was  the  only  sign  of  life 
in  all  those  miles. 

A  soft  scuffling  behind  me  set  my  head  flying 
around.  Hoang  stood  there  with  my  luncheon 
on  a  tray,  his  marmoreal  face  expressing  no  sur- 
prise at  my  peculiar  occupation. 

I  ate  like  a  sentry  on  duty,  my  eyes  never  de- 
serting the  scene  straight  ahead.  When  the  tray 
had  been  removed,  and  the  door  closed  noise- 
lessly behind  Hoang's  retreating  figure,  I  settled 
down  to  an  endless  wait  again.  The  room  was 
not  so  hostile  now.  The  afternoon  light  had 
penetrated  its  gloom  with  a  reflected  glory,  turn- 
ing it  to  a  sort  of  amber  dusk.  The  tilted  shut- 
ters of  the  open  window  threw  golden  bars  on  the 
faded  carpet  and  across  one  dignified  old  arm- 
chair in  which  no  one  had  sat  for  years. 

In  all  that  scene  my  eyes  finally  chose  and 
focussed  upon  a  great  dune  several  hundred 
yards  away.  It  was  the  grandfather  of  all  the 
dunes,  its  top  ridiculously  like  a  bald  head  with 
a  straggling  tuft  of  bunch-grass  growing  where 
the  ear-locks  would  be.  It  fell  away  to  a  series 
of  lower  dunes  on  the  right ;  around  the  left  of  its 
base  was  scooped  a  deep  gully  which  reason  told 
me  would  be  the  logical  approach  of  any  one  to- 
ward the  house.  All  was  outlined  in  dazzling 
light  villainously  unkind  to  the  eyes.  The  top 
began  to  swim  as  the  day  waned ;  to  my  tired  eyes 


54  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

bunch-grass,  light,  sand,  and  sky  gradually  ran 
together  in  a  conglomerate  mass  speckled  with 
blackness. 

I  don't  know  what  awoke  me.  I  don't  even 
know  if  I  really  slept  or  only  swayed  forward 
as  I  had  done  so  often  before.  I  found  myself 
cold  and  rigidly  erect  in  the  chair,  my  eyes 
directed  to  the  clump  of  lupine  which  choked 
the  neck  of  the  gully  about  the  dune's  base. 
The  lupines  had  shaken  their  purple  spikes,  and 
in  that  still  landscape  the  slight  movement  had 
stood  out  in  damning  revealment.  One  tall 
spray  still  swayed  slightly;  it  would  sway  like 
that  if  a  figure  had  either  wriggled  into  it  or 
away  from  the  shelter  of  its  branches. 

My  eyes  ached  with  the  intensity  with  which 
I  sought  to  penetrate  the  labyrinth  of  gloom  and 
black  shadows  entangled  in  its  foliage.  Over  me 
crept  a  horrible  numbness,  the  ghost  of  fear  when 
we  do  not  know  what  it  is  we  fear.  The  swaying 
of  the  topmost  lupine  had  stopped  now;  the 
whole  scene  swam  in  uninterrupted  stillness  and 
heat. 

Then  my  nerves  jumped  painfully  again,  and 
the  next  minute  relaxed  weakly  with  relief.  All 
the  lupine  and  bunch-grass  in  sight  was  swaying 
and  dancing.  A  little  spray  of  sand  blew  loose 
from  the  top  of  the  great  dune  and  scattered 
cloud-like  to  the  gully  below.     The  afternoon 


WATCHING  55 

winds  had  sprung  up  from  the  ocean  and  were 
hurling  themselves  inland. 

Then  close  upon  the  relief  I  felt  stalked  doubt. 
The  lupine  in  the  gully  had  been  sheltered ;  even 
now,  while  that  on  top  of  the  dunes  was  all 
a-blow,  the  shrubs  in  the  low  places  were  motion- 
less. Yet  the  flowers  in  the  gully  had  stirred, 
and  had  stirred  while  all  in  sight  was  still ! 

Common  sense  came  forward  a  trifle  wearily 
with  the  plausible  explanation  that  the  little 
gully  created  a  draft.  I  snatched  at  the  idea,  in 
the  face  of  the  motionless  shrubs  that  confronted 
me  now,  trying  to  talk  away  that  canker  of  fear 
that  remained  at  the  back  of  my  mind  to  irri- 
tate it. 

No  need  to  get  hysterical  over  every  growing 
bush,  I  told  myself  severely.  No  need  to  torture 
Miss  Haldayne  with  ghosts  of  my  own  manufac- 
ture. It  must  have  been  the  wind.  To-morrow 
I  would  steal  over  to  the  little  gully;  I  would 
investigate,  to  lay  the  ridiculous  fear  that  per- 
sisted. If  there  had  been  any  one  under  the 
lupines  the  trodden  sand  would  prove  it. 

But  that  resolve  served  to  keep  me  alert  all 
the  afternoon.  Not  until  gray  dusk  closed  coldly 
over  the  scene,  rendering  vision  uncertain,  and 
the  sad  fog  wraiths  drifted  thinly  between  the 
lonely  hummocks  of  sand  did  Miss  Haldayne 
come  to  end  my  long  vigil. 


56  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

Her  face  was  a  blot  of  white  against  the  dusk 
of  the  room.  I  could  not  read  her  expression. 
Her  voice  was  as  controlled  as  ever. 

"  Thank  you,  Ann,"  she  said,  almost  gently ; 
"you  will  be  glad  to  go,  I  suppose.  You  must 
be  tired  to  death." 

At  the  door  she  paused  and  her  voice  was  a 
trifle  apologetic.  "  Don't  say  anything  about 
this  to  my  sister  or  the  children.  They  think  you 
were  lying  down  in  your  room.  I  told  'em  you 
did  n't  feel  well." 

I  assented  of  course,  while  my  mind  was  strug- 
gling as  to  whether  or  not  I  should  tell  of  the 
shaking  lupine.  It  was  on  the  tip  of  my  tongue, 
when,  obeying  some  curious  impulse,  I  crowded 
it  back  again.  Time  enough  for  that  when  I  had 
investigated  the  gully  for  myself.  I  had  no  de- 
sire to  acknowledge  that  I  had  taken  fright  at 
the  wind, —  nor  that  I  had  fallen  asleep  at  my 
post. 

It  might  have  been  the  weary  note  in  her  voice, 
or  the  sense  of  conspiracy  which  bound  us  to- 
gether, but  for  the  first  time  I  threw  away  my 
customary  caution  in  speaking  to  the  woman  be- 
fore me  and  allowed  my  impulse  to  mature  in 
words. 

"  Miss  Haldayne,"  I  almost  gulped  in  my  ex- 
citement, "  I  don't  want  you  to  think  I  'm  a 
'  busy  '  person,  and  of  course  if  you  don't  want  to 


WATCHING  57 

tell  me  I  don't  mind,  but  is  there  anything  I  can 
do  to  help  you  ?  I  —  I  've  never  betrayed  a  con- 
fidence." 

She  hesitated,  there  in  the  gloom,  and  her  voice 
came  deeper,  the  nearest  to  a  caress  Eliza  Hal- 
dayne  seemed  able  to  come. 

"  You  're  a  nice  girl,  Ann  Belmont."  That 
was  all,  but  she  still  stood  motionless.  I  re- 
mained where  I  was,  scarcely  breathing,  my  eyes 
turned  on  the  white  patch  which  was  her  face. 

I  realize  now  that  it  must  have  meant  a  tre- 
mendous struggle  for  this  self-reliant,  austere 
woman  to  break  the  habit  of  a  lifetime;  but  it 
was  a  silent  struggle,  its  presence  showing  only 
in  her  indecision.  When  she  did  speak  it  was 
to  have  the  words  drag  reluctantly  from  her. 

"  Maybe  it  would  be  best ;  it 's  getting  beyond 
me.  It 's  beginning  to  frazzle  my  nerves,  I  '11 
admit." 

Again  a  silence,  which  I  did  not  seek  to  break ; 
then  suddenly,  as  one  who  feared  she  might 
weaken,  she  said  abruptly :  "  Come  on  up  to  my 
room.     Maybe  you  can  help." 

Miss  Haldayne's  room  was  as  severely  prac- 
tical and  neat  as  that  of  a  New  England  spinster. 
From  the  circular  blue-and-gray  rag  carpet  on 
the  floor  to  the  sparkling  chimney  on  the  enamel- 
based  kerosene  lamp  standing  primly  in  the  cen- 
ter of  a  crocheted  doily  on  a  small  marble-topped 


58  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

table  at  the  bed's  head,  there  was  not  an  article 
in  it  which  was  not  absolutely  homely  and  use- 
ful. One  thing  alone  struck  an  incongruous 
note.  Where  one  looked  to  see  fresh,  severely 
starched  scrim  curtains  to  bear  out  the  clean 
severity  of  the  rest  of  the  room,  thick  velvet 
hangings  met  the  eye,  their  faded  red  a  discord 
in  this  austere  spotlessness.  Through  those 
folds  no  gleam  of  light  could  penetrate  at  night, 
to  mark  the  house  to  a  watcher  on  the  dunes.  It 
sounded  again  the  note  of  tense  caution  which  I 
sensed  over  the  rest  of  the  place  and  I  turned  to 
Miss  Haldayne  with  visible  relief  in  finding  some 
tangible  footing  at  last  in  this  sea  of  vague- 
ness. 

She  had  grimly  unlocked  an  old-fashioned 
writing-desk  standing  between  the  windows  and 
taking  a  paper  from  one  of  the  pigeonholes  she 
crossed  to  me. 

After  the  slightest  hesitation,  as  though  al- 
ready regretting  her  decision,  she  thrust  it  at 
me.     "  Eead  that !  "  curtly. 

Handwriting  straggled  across  the  paper  — 
large,  ill-formed  characters,  almost  childishly 
penciled : 


You're  a  fool  to  think  you  can  hide.  If  not  to-day, 
to-morrow.  But  sometime  they'll  come  as  surely  as  day 
breaks  because  — 


WATCHING  59 

The  uneven  letters  dribbled  off  the  paper, 
either  because  they  ran  to  the  edge,  or  because 
the  writer  was  alarmed  and  dared  not  stop  to 
finish. 

I  read  them  twice,  and  again  the  slow  chill  be- 
gan at  the  base  of  my  spine  because  of  the  vague 
threat  hid  in  the  words.  Then  I  raised  my  eyes 
to  Miss  Haldayne's  face. 

She  was  watching  me  closely,  almost  desperate, 
like  one  who  grasps  at  a  straw  of  comfort. 

"  I  found  that  lying  on  my  desk  when  I  woke 
this  morning." 

"  What  does  it  mean?  " 

For  a  moment  her  lips  tightened,  then :  "  I 
don't  know."     And  I  knew  she  lied. 

"  But  I  don't  understand  — " 

"  Neither  do  I,"  replied  Eliza  Haldayne,  iras- 
cibly. Talking  about  it  appeared  to  ease  the 
strain  a  trifle.  "  Once  before  it  happened.  I 
have  a  sort  of  premonition  of  it.  All  the  day 
before  I  ?m  particularly  stirred  up  and  nervous." 

The  confession  from  the  usually  stoical 
woman,  the  very  admission  that  her  rigid  body 
held  nerves,  I  recognized  as  a  sign  of  the  intense 
strain  she  was  under. 

"  Tell  me  about  it,"  I  said  soothingly. 

"  There  's  nothing  to  tell,  I  told  you."  She 
took  out  some  of  the  tension  on  me.  "  I  got  up 
this  morning  and  saw  my  desk  open.     I  never 


60  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

leave  my  things  untidy  like  that.  That  was  the 
way  I  found  the  other  note." 

"  What  did  the  other  one  say?  " 

In  answer  she  turned  and  took  a  piece  of  paper 
from  a  second  pigeonhole.  It  was  in  the  same 
rambling  writing;  contained  the  same  veiled 
threat : 

How  long  do  you  think  you  can  keep  it  up?  —  burying 
your  head  in  the  sand  like  an  ostrich.  There's  always  a 
day  of  reckoning  and  when  they  come  — 

then  an  undecipherable  word  trailing  off  the 
paper  as  it  had  upon  the  other  note. 

I  looked  up,  more  at  sea  than  ever.  "  And 
you  have  n't  any  idea  who  wrote  it?  " 

"Who  could  write  it?"  Miss  Haldayne  was 
frankly  impatient.  "  For  Heaven's  sake,  Ann,  I 
thought  you  might  help  instead  of  asking  foolish 
questions !  " 

This  was  not  undeserved  and  I  took  it  meekly, 
studying  the  notes  again.  There  was  a  vague- 
ness about  them  which  suggested  the  rambling 
taunts  of  a  child  or  the  irresponsibility  of  a  de- 
mented person.  I  checked  a  shiver  and  turned 
the  paper  over.     The  other  side  was  blank. 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  paper  like  this  before?  " 
I  asked. 

"  Of  course;  it  ?s  my  own.  The  kind  I  keep  in 
my  desk  all  the  time.     Somebody  gets  in  and 


WATCHING  61 

writes  it  in  this  room  while  I  'm  asleep.  That 's 
just  it;  how  do  they  do  it?  The  writing-desk  is 
locked,  when  I  go  to  bed.  How  do  they  get  in, 
in  the  first  place?  There  is  n't  a  window  in  the 
whole  place  that  can  be  entered.  I  went  over 
'em  all  to-day.  The  mesh  is  undisturbed  and  the 
shutters  lock  from  the  inside.  The  first  time, 
I  thought  they  might  have  gotten  in  that  way,  so 
I  put  the  mesh  up.  Doors  are  out  of  the  ques- 
tion ;  every  one  's  locked  at  night  and  in  the 
evening  the  whole  house  is  lit  and  I  go  over  it. 
They  couldn't  get  in  and  hide.  Hoang  looks, 
too,  before  he  blows  the  lamps  out,  before  he 
comes  upstairs." 

This  failed  to  reassure  me.  Knowing  her  prej- 
udice in  Hoang' s  favor,  I  spoke  hesitatingly: 
"  You  don't  suppose  he  — " 

My  unspoken  suspicion  was  met  with  the  dis- 
dain I  had  expected.  "  Ann,  don't  be  absurd. 
Why  should  Hoang  write  anything  so  ridicu- 
lous? " 

"  Why  should  any  one?  "  I  answered  stoutly. 

I  had  her  there,  in  the  face  of  her  denial  as  to 
the  note's  meaning.  For  a  moment  we  stared 
blankly  at  each  other.  The  grayness  of  Miss 
Haldayne's  face  had  not  faded,  though  she  was 
making  a  desperate  effort  to  remain  noncommit- 
tal. I  was  fighting  a  desire  to  glance  nervously 
over  my  shoulder  in  the  dusk.     "  They "   sug- 


62  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

gested  a  collection  of  enemies  and  we  were  only 
two  women  in  a  great  lonely  house. 

"  I  don't  know  what  the  notes  mean  " —  she 
stuck  to  her  lie  bravely,  though  her  lips  were  blue 
and  taut  — "  but  that  is  n't  what 's  bothering  me, 
Ann;  it's — how  do  they  get  in?"  This  last 
was  a  whisper  of  anguish. 

I  looked  about  at  the  walls,  with  some  wild 
idea  about  sliding  panels  and  secret  rooms.  The 
walls,  however,  were  like  those  in  the  rest  of  the 
rooms,  smooth  white  plaster.  There  were  two 
long  windows,  narrow  and  shuttered.  The  up- 
per veranda  did  not  extend  along  this  side  of 
the  house  and  there  was  a  thirty-foot  drop  to  the 
dismal  garden  below.  Even  assuming  one  could 
enter  the  bedroom,  how  could  he  enter  the  house 
to  begin  with,  strictly  guarded  as  it  was? 

Miss  Haldayne  was  speaking  still  in  that  low, 
tense  voice: 

"  That  childish  handwriting  is  affected,  of 
course.  The  language  is  n't  childish ;  no  child 
could  think  up  and  carry  out  a  thing  like  that. 
Besides,  the  children  don't  know  — "  she  checked 
herself  abruptly,  as  though  realizing  that  she 
had  said  too  much. 

"  Hoang  — "  I  was  beginning,  unable  to  shake 
off  my  distrust  of  the  Chinaman. 

"Ann,  for  Heaven's  sake  leave  Hoang  alone, 
will  you?    I  tell  you  he  did  n't !  " 


WATCHING  63 

"  Well,  that  only  leaves  Miss  Drusilla  and  me," 
I  said,  exasperated.  "  You  know  I  did  n't.  Do 
you  think  your  sister  did?  " 

I  trembled  inwardly  at  this  unlucky  speech 
when  I  recalled  the  dislike  which  existed  between 
the  two  women,  but  Miss  Haldayne  disposed  of 
it  characteristically:  "  Drusilla?  No;  Drusilla 
has  n't  brains  enough !  "  she  said  with  unflatter- 
ing frankness. 

A  horrible  suspicion  had  flashed  into  my  mind. 
Were  these  all  the  inmates  of  the  house?  Sup- 
pose that  room  at  the  bottom  of  the  staircase  held 
something  living;  something  which  crawled  up 
here  in  the  dead  of  night  while  we  lay  sleeping 
and  opened  the  door  with  devilish  cleverness  — 
"  something  all  shiny,  like  a  terrible  face."  I 
shivered  and  plunged  into  unwise  speech. 

"  If  there  was  anything  in  the  house  —  any- 
thing —  that  felt  spite  and  took  this  way  to  an- 
noy you  — "  I  felt  that  she  must  surely  get  my 
drift  and  fall  upon  the  possible  explanation. 
But  Miss  Haldayne's  face  was  frankly  puzzled  as 
I  faltered. 

"  Ann,  what  in  the  world  are  you  driving  at? 
Do  you  think  disembodied  spirits  are  hanging 
around  to  play  tricks?  No,  sir,"  she  answered 
herself  grimly.  "  Who  ever  wrote  that  is  human, 
though  they  may  be  pure  devil  inside.  But  how 
in  the  world  do  they  get  in?  " 


64  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

I  thought  of  all  the  mystery  stories  I  had  read, 
and  ventured  the  next  in  a  rather  shamefaced 
manner :  "  You  're  sure  there  's  no  underground 
tunnel  or  anything  like  that?  " 

The  idea  excited  no  ridicule.  For  a  moment 
she  studied  it  gravely,  then  picked  up  the  lamp 
and  turned  to  the  door.  "  Come  on,"  she  said 
grimly.     "  I  never  thought  of  that." 

Luckily  we  met  no  one  on  the  stairs  or  they 
would  have  been  amazed  to  see  the  supposedly- 
sick  me,  trailing  Miss  Haldayne  with  a  lighted 
lamp  in  her  hand  through  the  bright  hall.  As 
usual,  when  twilight  fell  Hoang  had  lit  the  num- 
erous lamps  and  now  each  blazed  on  its  little 
individual  shelf  surrounded  by  its  own  golden 
radiance. 

The  Chinaman  was  washing  dishes  in  the 
warm,  bright  kitchen  as  we  passed  through. 
Again,  as  I  looked  at  him,  those  unreasoning 
suspicions  crowded  my  brain.  Miss  Haldayne, 
on  the  contrary,  spoke  to  him  with  unusual  gen- 
tleness, as  though  in  defiance  of  my  unspoken 
thoughts. 

From  one  corner  of  the  large  kitchen  a  flight 
of  rough  wooden  steps  led  to  the  cellar  below. 
This  was  cement-walled  and  floored;  stoutly 
made,  to  withstand  the  drifting  sand  outside, 
Our  heels  rang  uncomfortably  loud  on  the  hard 
floor  and  the  shadows  danced  before  us  as  we 


WATCHING  65 

moved  with  our  lamps  —  I  had  obtained  one  in 
the  kitchen. 

We  searched  the  enormous  basement  from  one 
end  to  the  other,  holding  our  lamps  high  to  exam- 
ine the  walls  in  their  entirety,  our  silhouettes 
bobbing  about  with  our  movements.  There  was 
not  the  slightest  thing  on  which  to  hang  suspi- 
cion, not  even  though  we  tugged  away  boxes  and 
barrels  stored  in  one  corner,  and  got  ourselves 
hot  and  dusty  moving  potato-sacks. 

As  we  came  up  the  wooden  stairs  again  and 
blew  out  the  lamps  on  gaining  the  top  I  could 
not  resist  speaking.  "  You  're  perfectly  sure 
there 's  no  one  else  in  the  house  besides  Miss 
Drusilla  and  the  children  and  Hoang?  " 

"  Of  course,"  returned  Miss  Haldayne,  irrita- 
bly. "  Why  do  you  harp  on  that  string  so  much, 
Ann?  » 

There  was  nothing  I  could  say  to  this  without 
revealing  too  keen  an  interest  in  that  room  at 
the  foot  of  the  stairs,  so  I  kept  still. 

"  No," —  Miss  Haldayne  paused  on  her  way  up 
to  her  room  again  — "  there  's  no  two  ways  about 
it.  Some  one  got  into  the  house  —  the  good  Lord 
knows  how !  —  and  wrote  that." 

A  spasm  of  fright  seemed  to  descend  upon  her 
at  the  thought  of  her  bedroom  being  silently  en- 
tered in  the  middle  of  the  night  and  an  involun- 
tary shiver  shook  me. 


66  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

"  I  got  it  into  my  head  that  those  words  they 
used  — '  If  not  to-day,  to-morrow  — '  meant  that 
they  —  that  something  or  other  might  try  to  get 
into  the  place  to-day.  That 's  why  I  had  you 
watch,  Ann." 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment,  her  eyes  fixed  on 
something  I  could  n't  see,  her  thoughts  far  away. 
A  gray  weariness  had  fallen  on  her  face,  a  dread 
which  was  wearing  her  out.  I  felt  a  gush  of  pity 
for  the  lonely  woman ;  and  as  if  she  sensed  it,  she 
withdrew  her  gaze  until  it  rested  on  my  face  and 
her  tone  was  so  kind  as  to  startle  me: 

"  Kun  along  now  and  get  some  supper.  You 
look  all  tuckered  out.  You  're  a  good  girl,  Ann." 
Her  hand  shoved  me  gently  and  kindly  toward 
the  stairs.     "  Go  get  some  rest." 


CHAPTEE  V 

WHAT   THE   SAND   REVEALED 

THE  next  morning  a  slight  restraint  ap- 
peared in  Miss  Haldayne's  manner  toward 
me.  Already  she  regretted  her  confidence,  I 
could  read  in  her  averted  glance;  and,  catching 
my  clue  from  this,  I  returned  her  brief  nod  with 
the  briefest  of  "  Good  mornings  "  and  gave  my 
entire  attention  to  the  two  children.  Apparently 
no  third  mysterious  note  had  been  left  and  Eliza 
Haldayne  once  more  felt  capable  of  handling  the 
situation  alone. 

Immediately  after  breakfast,  as  though  fearful 
that  I  might  refer  to  the  happenings  of  yester- 
day, she  slipped  into  the  kitchen  while  Miss 
Drusilla's  ample  figure  still  blocked  the  en- 
trance; but  one  quick  glance  over  my  shoulder 
as  I  started  with  Joan  and  Harry  on  the  morn- 
ing walk  revealed  the  now  familiar  bulge  in  the 
velvet  hangings  of  the  bay-window  and  I  knew 
that  the  odd  woman  was  keeping  her  lonely  vigil 
over  us. 

The  children's  chatter  spattered  off  me  like  so 
many  rain-drops  this  morning.     My  thoughts,  as 

67 


68  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

well  as  my  eyes,  ever  recurred  in  dread  to  the 
great  bald-headed  dune  toward  the  east  where 
yesterday  the  lupine  had  moved.  I  set  the  chil- 
dren wild  with  delight  by  allowing  them  to  wade 
in  the  shallow  margin  of  the  little  bay,  while  I 
sat  atop  a  high  dune  near  them,  guardian  of  two 
small  pairs  of  shoes  and  stockings.  The  sun  had 
broken  through  the  fog  early  that  morning;  be- 
fore me  a  sea  of  ultramarine  and  silver  flashed 
and  danced  unbroken  to  the  Orient.  The  bare, 
ugly  beach  was  becomingly  hidden  by  its  shining 
ripples ;  hidden,  too,  were  the  murderous-looking 
ropes  of  kelp.  The  little  creek  which  meandered 
through  the  sand,  almost  sinking  into  it  before 
reaching  the  water,  was  a  thin  trickle  of  silver. 
Swooping  sea-gulls  and  the  two  laughing  chil- 
dren playing  tag  with  the  waves  removed  the 
brooding  loneliness  which  generally  hung  sinis- 
terly  over  the  dreary  little  inlet. 

But  my  eyes  would  ever  turn  to  the  gully  on 
the  east  and  to  the  menacing  growth  of  lupine 
which  choked  it.  From  here  I  could  trace  it 
back;  a  perfect  passageway  between  the  great 
dune  and  its  shorter  neighbor;  an  alley  down 
which  a  man  could  wriggle  his  length  unseen 
from  the  house  he  watched.  But,  however  I 
strained  my  eyes  through  the  bright  morning 
light,  1  could  discern  no  movement  in  the  bushes 
to-day. 


WHAT  THE  SAND  KEVEALED       69 

Not  until  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  was  I 
able  to  carry  out  the  resolve  I  had  made  the 
day  before.  I  had  picked  my  time  well,  I  silently 
congratulated  myself,  as  I  walked  with  forced 
leisure  down  the  shadowy  upper  hall.  Unmis- 
takable noises  from  behind  Miss  Drusilla's  door 
bore  witness  to  her  slumbers.  Miss  Haldayne  I 
had  seen  descend  the  stairs  kitchenward  a  few 
minutes  before.  The  children's  treble  voices 
floated  in  through  the  opened  French  window, 
pleasantly  intermingled  with  the  roar  of  the 
ocean. 

At  the  top  of  the  stairs  I  suddenly  hesitated, 
overcome  by  a  new  impulse.  There  was  a  mo- 
ment of  silent  struggle,  then  I  was  speeding  up 
the  hall  again  and  dowTn  the  stairs  at  the  opposite 
end,  the  stairs  which  led  down  to  Joan's  mysteri- 
ous "  Bluebeard  Chamber." 

At  the  landing  in  the  bend  I  checked  myself 
and  remained  peering  with  big  eyes  down  into 
the  gloom  below.  There  was  nothing  very  terri- 
fying about  the  closed  door,  viewed  dispassion- 
ately. The  tall,  thin  window  beside  me  gave  a 
vista  of  wind-swept,  sun-flooded  sand-dunes  bil- 
lowing away  to  the  horizon.  My  imagination, 
however,  painted  Joan's  fearful  little  figure  hid- 
ing behind  the  faded  red  curtains,  her  round 
brown  eyes  fastened  on  the  door  in  the  shadows 
below  me.     From  the  angle  of  the  stairs  here  it 


70  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

would  be  perfectly  possible  to  obtain  a  slanting 
view  into  the  room  if  the  door  were  open.  The 
thought  that  "  something  " — "  all  shiny,  like 
a  terrible  face " —  might  even  now  be  staring 
straight  toward  me,  its  baleful  gaze  stopped  only 
by  an  inch  or  two  of  wood,  sent  a  cold  chill  down 
my  back. 

A  stealthy  noise  behind  me  wheeled  me  about, 
all  nerves.  The  light  from  the  window  slanted 
harshly  across  the  still  figure  of  Hoang,  standing 
there  watching  me,  Heaven  alone  knows  how 
long.  A  blind  panic  descended  upon  me  at  the 
unexpectedness  of  it;  my  dislike  rasped  in  my 
voice  when  I  was  able  to  speak : 

"  What  do  you  want?  Why  did  you  sneak  up 
on  me  like  that?  " 

He  bobbed  his  head,  his  long  black  eyes  in- 
scrutable.    His  tone  was  as  bland  as  ever. 

"  Missy  Haldayne  sen  me  linen-closet.  Fetch- 
em  new  towels  for  kitchen." 

u  The  linen-closet  is  nearer  the  other  stairs 
than  these !  "  I  answered  hotly.  "  Why  did  you 
come  down  this  way?  " 

"  Missy  Haldayne  say  fetchem  towels."  His 
impassive  stare  displayed  not  the  slightest  em- 
barrassment at  the  way  I  had  trapped  him.  It 
was  as  though  a  curtain  had  been  drawn  close 
beneath  the  surface  of  those  narrow  eyes,  and  of 


WHAT  THE  SAND  REVEALED       71 

the  curious  emotions  swarming  within  I  could 
only  guess. 

A  sense  of  the  maddening  futility  of  my  indig- 
nation surged  over  me.  I  forced  myself  to  turn 
my  back  and  continue  dignifiedly  down  the  stairs 
as  though  that  had  been  my  intention  all  along. 
Behind  me  came  the  soft  pitter-patter  of  Hoang's 
slippers  as  he  followed  me,  sending  little  shivers 
of  dislike  chasing  themselves  up  and  down  my 
spine. 

The  salt  wind  was  grateful  to  my  hot  face  as  I 
struck  off  across  the  dunes.  An  anxious  glance 
over  my  shoulder  revealed  no  watcher  from  the 
house;  apparently  I  had  not  been  seen  to  leave. 
Hoang  had  left  me  before  I  reached  the  front 
door. 

I  kept  to  the  water  along  the  frequented 
ground,  nevertheless,  branching  inland  only 
when  I  reached  the  farther  side  of  the  great  dune 
where  I  had  sat  that  morning. 

It  was  comparatively  easy  for  me  to  keep  out 
of  sight  of  the  house  by  working  my  way  from 
swale  to  swale  until  I  was  well  within  the 
forbidden  territory  which  Miss  Haldayne  had 
watched  so  assiduously  from  the  bay-window. 

It  was  very  hot  in  the  deep  gully  around  the 
great  dune.  The  sand  here  had  formed  a  crust 
which  broke  under  my  feet  with  little  crackling 


72  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

noises.  Toward  the  right  the  ground  sloped 
away  more  levelly  and  the  house  towered  ab- 
ruptly. 

Some  words  of  Tennyson  drifted  idly  into  my 
head  at  the  sight  of  it  and  I  repeated  them  whim- 
sically under  my  breath  as  I  cautiously  followed 
up  the  little  gully : 

"  With  one  black  shadow  at  its  feet, 

The   house  through   all  the  level   shines, 
Close  latticed  to  the  brooding  heat 
And  silent  in  its  dusty  vines." 

I  became  abruptly  still,  while  a  curious,  cold 
dismay  crept  up  from  my  heart.  My  eyes  had 
not  played  tricks  on  me  yesterday.  The  sand 
beneath  the  lupines  was  scuffed  as  though  a  body 
had  pressed  there,  and  simultaneously  I  became 
aware  of  a  pair  of  eyes  watching  me  through  the 
shelter  of  another  group  perhaps  twenty-five  feet 
farther  up  the  gully  —  unwinking,  Chinese  eyes. 

After  that  first  second  of  breathless  horror, 
my  mind  gripped  suddenly  and  became  cool.  I 
had  not  betrayed  myself  by  any  outward  start, — 
of  this  I  felt  sure.  I  forced  my  shrinking  figure 
to  turn  with  elaborate  carelessness  and  I  pulled 
a  lupine  from  its  dry  twig  with  hands  whose 
shaking  was  mercifully  hidden  from  those  watch- 
ing eyes. 

Instinctively  I  seized  what  seemed  the  only 


WHAT  THE  SAND  KEVEALED       73 

course  to  follow.  It  was  apparent  that  the  si- 
lent watcher  believed  himself  unobserved  and  I 
forced  myself  to  act  upon  that  belief;  to  appear 
taking  a  casual  stroll  while  I  stealthily  worked 
my  way  back  to  the  house. 

I  could  feel  that  my  face  had  gone  white  and 
cold,  but  my  back  remained  stiff  as  I  deliberately 
turned  it  on  that  hidden  figure  and  sauntered 
back  down  the  gully,  every  now  and  then  pausing 
to  tear  a  lupine  from  the  bushes  lining  the  side, 
quite  as  though  red-hot  tingles  were  not  chasing 
themselves  up  and  down  my  spine.  I  was  called 
to  fight  the  almost  overwhelming  urge  to  throw 
discretion  to  the  winds  and  race  madly  for  the 
house  looming  so  temptingly  near.  More  than 
once  my  strained  imagination  caught  at  the  little 
trifling  noises  of  the  dunes  —  the  rustle  of  wind 
through  the  bunch-grass,  the  whisper  among 
the  dried  twigs  of  the  lupine,  or  the  almost  im- 
perceptible passage  of  a  gopher  over  the  crust  of 
the  ground  —  and  twisted  them  into  the  lurking 
footfalls  of  that  silent  watcher,  risen  from  his 
bed  of  sand  and  silently  pursuing  me  down  the 
gully. 

The  thought  brought  such  a  weight  of  terror  to 
drag  upon  my  steps  that  I  deliberately  dropped 
a  flower  as  an  excuse  to  turn  around.  Only  the 
lupines  swaying  in  the  wind  and  the  sun-flooded 
sand-dunes  met  my  eyes ;  a  quick  flash  before  my 


74  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

lashes  swept  down  showed  no  pursuing  figure. 
That  silent  form  was  still  prostrate  behind  the 
whispering  shrubs;  the  slanting  eyes,  I  made 
never  a  doubt,  still  clamped  to  my  loitering 
figure. 

My  courage  had  nearly  dwindled  when  I 
mounted  the  shallow  wooden  steps  of  the  house ; 
my  body  was  benumbed,  every  nerve  strained  to 
hold  myself  down  to  a  walk.  It  required  all  my 
strength  to  turn  the  handle  of  the  door.  I 
slipped  into  the  shadowy  hall  and  shot  the  bolt 
after  me,  then  my  knees  turned  to  water  and  I 
slumped  dizzily  on  the  lowest  step,  sitting  there 
lackadaisically  like  Ophelia,  the  purple  flowers 
drooping  from  my  nerveless  hand. 

A  hot  flash  of  fear  pricked  my  tortured  nerves 
from  their  lethargy  the  next  minute.  In  the 
half -opened  door  of  the  front  parlor  Hoang  sud- 
denly appeared. 

There  was  something  which  spoke  of  a  smolder- 
ing excitement  beneath  the  Chinaman's  usually 
calm  exterior.  It  fairly  hissed  through  his 
words  as  he  nearly  pounced  on  me. 

"Missy  Belmont,  you  see  —  something?  Out 
there  on  dunes?     You  see  something?  " 

The  staccato  words  roused  a  frightened  indig- 
nation in  me.  I  knew,  now,  as  well  as  though  I 
had  actually  watched  him,  that  Hoang  had  been 
peering  behind  those  front  red  curtains  while  I 


WHAT  THE  SAND  REVEALED       75 

made  my  painful  way  back  to  the  house.  Was 
there  some  bond  between  this  too-plausible  Ori- 
ental and  that  narrow-eyed  watcher  in  the  sand? 
How  otherwise  would  Hoang  guess  that  I  might 
have  seen  something?  My  attitude  could  be  mis- 
taken for  weariness;  my  expression,  I  was  cer- 
tain, had  remained  under  control.  His  words 
revealed  guilty  knowledge.  He  feared  that  his 
accomplice  had  been  discovered ;  this  I  read  into 
his  unwonted  agitation. 

Oddly  enough,  this  strengthened  my  anger  and 
lessened  my  fright.  I  fixed  my  eyes  upon  him 
and  replied  severely :  "  I  don't  know  what  you 
mean,  Hoang.  Did  I  see  what?  What  is  there 
to  be  seen  on  the  dunes?  " 

He  seemed  to  realize  his  mistake.  The  blank 
curtains  were  drawn  over  his  black  eyes  again 
and  the  light,  slanting  through  the  narrow  red 
panels  of  glass  on  each  side  of  the  front  door, 
showed  his  neck  muscles  stiffen  as  though  he  got 
them  under  control. 

"  I  think  you  seem  — 'flaid.  You  walk  quick ; 
bleathe  fast,"  he  fended. 

The  thought  that  those  two  pairs  of  spying 
eyes  had  watched  my  defenseless  figure  sent  a 
cold  shiver  down  me  again,  but  I  answered  boldly 
enough :  "  I  'm  afraid  of  nothing,  Hoang ;  do  you 
hear  that?     /  'm  afraid  of  nothing!  " 

I  had  risen  and  was  staring  fiercely  at  him  as 


76  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

I  flung  out  this  defiance,  my  chin  raised,  all 
my  dislike  for  him  allowed  to  show  frankly  in 
my  face. 

His  own  gaze  dropped  —  guiltily,  I  thought. 
"  Missy  Belmont,  you  velly  blave  lady,"  and  I 
seemed  to  detect  a  note  of  mockery  running 
through  the  simple  remark. 

I  left  him  standing  in  the  hall  as  I  mounted 
the  stairs  to  my  own  room,  the  slanting  light 
from  the  door  panels  picking  his  figure  out  like 
a  faint  red  ghost  amid  the  surrounding  shadows. 
In  my  own  room  I  dropped  the  lupines  on  the 
bed,  noticing  how  my  feverish  clutch  on  their 
stems  had  stained  my  hands.  My  heart  was 
beating  like  a  trip-hammer.  I  forced  myself  to 
wash  my  face  deliberately,  in  cold  water,  and  re- 
arrange my  wind-blown  hair;  then  with  a  re- 
gained calm,  outwardly  at  least,  I  sought  Miss 
Haldayne. 

I  had  not  far  to  seek.  As  I  stepped  through 
the  doorway  I  saw  her  capable  figure  swooping 
up  the  hall  toward  the  linen-closet,  her  arms 
piled  high  with  Joan's  little  dresses  and  Harry's 
shirts,  still  warm  from  the  ironing-board.  She 
was  droning  her  little  unmusical  tune,  a  sign  that 
the  world  was  turning  well  with  her.  She 
wheeled  as  I  called  her  name,  the  dreary  little 
tune  dying  on  her  lips ;  a  slight  frown  of  annoy- 
ance appearing  between  her  level  black  brows. 


WHAT  THE  SAND  KEVEALED       77 

It  was  apparent  that  I  still  reminded  her  un- 
pleasantly of  her  regretted  confidence. 

"Well,  Ann?"  Her  tone  was  frankly  impa- 
tient. "  Good  lands !  you  look  peaked  to-day ! 
A  person  'd  think  you  'd  seen  a  ghost." 

"  I  have  n't  seen  a  ghost,  Miss  Haldayne,"  I 
replied,  in  what  I  was  relieved  to  find  was  a 
quiet,  steady  tone.  "  I  Ve  seen  something  very 
much  alive,  up  there  in  the  sand-dunes." 

For  a  moment  the  dark  blood  gushed  into  her 
face,  then  seeped  slowly  away,  leaving  a  grayish 
tinge  in  its  wake.  She  stood  rigid,  her  fierce 
black  eyes  burning  into  mine. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  Speak  plain,"  she  fi- 
nally rasped  out. 

"Yesterday,  while  I  was  watching,  I  saw  the 
lupines  move,  over  toward  the  great  dune  at  the 
east  of  the  house.  I  did  n't  say  anything  to  you, 
for  I  thought  it  was  only  the  wind.  Then  I  got 
to  thinking  it  over  and  I  was  n't  satisfied.  I 
decided  to  see  for  myself.  I  went  there  this  af- 
ternoon. There  was  some  scuffed-up  sand,  as 
though  somebody  'd  crawled  on  all  fours  under 
the  shrubs;  and  not  only  that,  but  while  I  was 
looking  I  felt  some  one's  eyes  upon  me.  Then  I 
saw  a  Chinaman's  face,  half  hidden  in  the  lupine 
and  bunch-grass  farther  up  the  gully." 

"  Go  on !  "  I  should  never  have  recognized  the 
hoarse  tones. 


78  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

u  I  was  sure  he  did  n't  know  I  'd  seen  him,  so 
I  pretended  that  I  was  only  gathering  lupines 
and  I  worked  my  way  back  to  the  house.  That 's 
all." 

There  was  a  strained  silence  for  perhaps  half  a 
minute;  then  a  visible  pulling  together  of  the 
woman  before  me,  and  I  was  hurt  and  vastly 
astonished  to  hear  her  loud  laugh  of  scorn. 

"  Ann,  you  're  developing  nerves !  You  prob- 
ably saw  a  stone  or  something,  and  took  it  for  a 
face.  Or  tramps.  You  know  I  told  you  to  keep 
away  from  those  sand-dunes.  You  might  have 
wakened  a  tramp  from  his  afternoon  nap." 

"  A  Chinese  tramp !  "  I  said  quietly. 

"Why  not?"  She  came  back  at  me  bellig- 
erently. "  Besides,  chances  are  he  was  n't  Chi- 
nese —  if  you  did  see  any  one,  and  I  'm  not  admit- 
ting you  did." 

I  did  not  grow  angry.  There  was  something 
pitiful  in  her  brave  attempt  at  poise. 

"  I  'm  sure  of  it,  Miss  Haldayne,"  I  said  gently. 
"And  the  man  was  Chinese.  When  I  returned 
to  the  house  I  saw  Hoang  in  the  hall.  He  had 
been  watching  me  from  the  parlor  window.  It 
would  be  easy  for  him  to  be  in  touch  with  the 
Chinaman  in  the  dunes.  Oh,  Miss  Haldayne, 
Hoang's  at  the  bottom  of  whatever 's  worrying 
you,  I  'm  sure  of  it !  I  don't  trust  him  for  a 
minute ! " 


WHAT  THE  SAND  REVEALED       79 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Ann !  "  and  this  time  her 
tone  was  frankly  impatient.  "  Don't  harp  on 
that  string  any  more!  To  listen  to  you,  a  per- 
son 'd  think  poor  Hoang  ought  to  be  hung.  You 
saw  a  tramp  in  the  dunes,  if  you  saw  anybody." 
She  suddenly  switched.  "  There  's  Harry  cry- 
ing. He  's  probably  fallen  and  bumped  that  sore 
place  on  his  forehead  again.  Run  along,  Ann, 
and  see  what  ails  him,  will  you?  " 

Hurt  and  angry,  I  turned  away  and  walked 
down  the  hall  to  the  upper  veranda  overlooking 
the  ocean.  Just  as  I  reached  an  angle  of  the 
wall  I  glanced  involuntarily  back. 

Miss  Haldayne  was  standing  rigid,  as  I  had 
left  her,  her  face  stamped  with  gray  fear,  while 
clean  clothes,  fallen  from  the  stack  in  her  arms, 
lay  unheeded  on  the  floor  about  her. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   HOWL   IN   THE   NIGHT 

THAT  night,  at  the  supper-table,  Miss  Dru- 
silla  was  unusually  loquacious,  insisting  on 
telling  in  detail  of  a  house-party  she  had  at- 
tended some  twenty  years  before,  where,  it  ap- 
peared to  my  rather  spasmodic  attention,  a  Po- 
lish prince  and  an  army  officer  had  proposed  to 
her  and  two  scions  of  our  very  best  families  had 
come  to  blows  over  the  favor  of  a  dance.  We 
received  the  details  of  her  dress  down  to  the  last 
stitch;  what  this  one  had  said  and  that  one  had 
thought,  and  just  how  cattily  the  other  one  had 
acted.  Encouraged  by  the  preoccupation  of  her 
usual  dragon,  she  grew  expansive  and  droned 
throughout  the  courses  like  Tennyson's  brook. 

The  children  too  were  full  of  animal  spirits 
to-night;  fortunately,  for  Miss  Haldayne  and  I 
sat  there  like  specters  at  the  feast.  Each  time 
Hoang  passed  behind  my  chair  I  involuntarily 
shrunk  within  myself, —  how  noticeably,  I  did 
not  realize  until  I  caught  Miss  Haldayne's  black 
eyes  fixed  on  me  in  frank  impatience.     My  dis- 

80 


THE  HOWL  IN  THE  NIGHT  81 

trust  of  the  servant  was  becoming  a  veritable  ob- 
session with  me,  and  I  sensed  that  Hoang  some- 
how felt  this  and  that  in  his  peculiar  way  he 
resented  it,  though  his  manner  remained  as  im- 
penetrable as  ever  while  he  served  me. 

The  lamps  had  been  lighted  early  that  night, 
I  noticed,  as  I  accompanied  the  children  upstairs 
after  dinner.  Though  it  was  still  gray  twilight 
outside,  they  were  all  blazing  on  their  myriad 
little  shelves,  thrusting  the  farthest  corners  into 
yellow  relief  and  painting  our  mammoth  black 
shadows  on  the  plastered  walls  as  we  toiled  up 
the  narrow  staircase.  Miss  Haldayne's  queer 
dread  of  the  dark  had  illuminated  the  entire 
place  to-night.  From  the  top  of  the  staircase 
the  upper  hall  stretched  away  reassuringly 
empty  to  the  duplicate  steps  of  the  other  end, 
where  they  plunged  down  to  mellow  gloom.  To 
my  morbid  fancy  the  curtains  seemed  drawn 
together  with  greater  care  this  evening;  not  the 
slightest  flicker  of  yellow  light  could  betray  an 
opening  to  that  silent  watcher  on  the  dark  dunes. 

The  evening  play  hour  broke  in  on  my  abstrac- 
tion, luckily,  for  my  nerves  were  growing  ragged. 
Since  the  inauguration  of  the  romps  on  the  sand, 
and  the  relief  of  having  a  companion  to  whom 
they  could  speak  their  fearful  little  minds,  the 
children  had  learned  to  play  like  normal  imps. 
It  was  impossible  to  review  real  fears  while  fol- 


82  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

lowing  Joan's  long  legs  as  we  flew  from  two 
hundred  imaginary  savages  gallantly  headed  by 
Harry  on  a  rocking  horse.  Not  until  each  was 
tucked  in  their  little  cot,  Joan's  dark  head  rest- 
ing uneasily  on  rag  knobs  (for  she  had  coaxed  me 
into  making  "rag  curls"),  not  until  I  had  re- 
ceived two  moist  kisses  in  good  night  and  had 
blown  out  their  light,  did  that  ever  recurring 
dread  swoop  down  upon  my  cowering  mind  once 
more. 

I  had  just  shut  the  children's  door  behind  me, 
preparatory  to  stepping  into  my  own  room,  wThen 
I  saw  Miss  Haldayne  coming  up  the  hall.  She 
seemed  barely  to  see  me  as  she  passed ;  her  "  good 
night "  was  perfunctory,  her  black  eyes  were  ab- 
stracted. She  carried  an  old  tin  lantern,  one  I 
had  never  before  seen,  and  disappeared  with  it 
into  the  lighted  cavern  of  her  own  room  as  I 
entered  mine. 

After  making  myself  ready  for  bed,  I  stood  in 
the  dark,  my  face  close  to  the  wire  mesh  of  the 
open  window.  The  night  wind  blew  softly  cool 
about  me ;  I  could  hear  its  faint  stir  as  it  swept 
over  the  unseen  sand-dunes  below.  There  was  no 
moon  and  the  stars  were  blotted  out  by  a  high 
fog.  The  complaining  murmur  of  the  sea  came 
out  of  hollow  blackness  wThich  seemed  to  encom- 
pass the  silent  house  in  the  center  of  a  new  and 
lonely  world.     I  turned  my  face  in  the  direction 


THE  HOWL  IN  THE  NIGHT  83 

of  the  big  dune,  my  fancy  fearfully  picturing  the 
narrow-eyed  watcher  creeping  closer  in  the 
cloaking  darkness.  I  shivered;  then,  Scotch 
common  sense  overcoming  Irish  imagination,  I 
trotted  over  to  the  big  bed,  ascertaining  first  that 
I  had  locked  the  door. 

As  I  snuggled  down  between  the  cold  sheets  I 
attempted  to  concentrate  on  the  happenings  of 
the  last  two  days.  This  was  the  quiet  reflection 
to  which  I  had  been  looking  forward  since  din- 
ner-time. Was  there  any  connection  between 
that  silent  watcher  in  the  dunes  and  the  mysteri- 
ous notes?  If  there  was,  how  had  the  writer 
entered  the  house  always  lighted  and  guarded 
so  carefully?  What  had  Hoang  to  do  with  it? 
What  had  his  agitation  as  I  entered  meant? 
Miss  Drusilla  liked  him  as  little  as  I  did ;  the  chil- 
dren were  afraid  of  his  unsmiling  silence;  yet 
Miss  Haldayne  so  vehemently  asserted  his  inno- 
cence. Hoang;  the  silent  watcher;  the  threat- 
ening notes,  and  the  secret  room, —  what  were 
their  sinister  connection  with  one  another? 

I  thought  I  was  studying  it  with  cool  delibera- 
tion, when  sleep  overtook  me.  I  was  imprisoned 
beneath  a  vast  net,  a  net  which  to  my  dreaming 
fancy  brushed  the  stars  and  crowded  the  horizon, 
yet  which  entangled  by  struggling  footsteps  as  I 
endeavored  to  escape.  I  was  struggling  fran- 
tically, blindly ;  its  dark  mesh  was  over  my  face, 


84  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

over  my  whole  body,  my  skin  crawled  with  the 
feel  of  it,  disgustingly  like  the  soft  cling  of  cob- 
webs. I  was  plucking  it,  loathingly  from  my 
face,  trying  to  scream  and  unable  to  do  more 
than  emit  an  agonized  whisper,  when,  with  a 
crash  which  echoed  and  thundered  drearily 
through  what  seemed  miles  of  my  brain,  the  sky 
fell. 

I  found  myself  bathed  in  a  cold  perspiration 
and  sitting  upright;  my  staring  eyes  strained 
through  the  darkness  while  the  whole  house 
ached  with  the  ring  of  the  noise  which  had  broken 
my  nightmare.  For  a  moment  I  was  held  rigid 
with  terror;  then,  muffled  by  the  plaster  wall  be- 
tween, I  heard  screams  of  fright  from  Joan  and 
Harry. 

I  jumped  from  my  warm  bed  and  ran  to  the 
door.  The  key  was  not  in  the  lock;  my  bare  foot 
encountered  it  on  the  floor  where  it  had  fallen. 
As  I  fumbled  to  find  the  lock  in  the  darkness  I 
called  to  the  frightened  children  that  I  was 
coming. 

Smothered  by  the  two  doors,  came  Harry's 
frightened  and  honest  wail :  "  I  'm  scared !  "  but 
his  sobs  lessened  with  the  comfort  of  my  voice. 
My  groping  fingers  found  the  lock  and  with  a 
little  gasp  of  relief  I  thrust  the  key  in,  only  to 
turn  cold  to  the  ends  of  my  bare  toes.  My  door 
was  locked  from  the  other  side. 


THE  HOWL  IN  THE  NIGHT  85 

I  think  the  frightened  knowledge  of  that  held 
me  rigid  for  a  full  half -minute,  afraid  to  move 
in  the  cold  darkness.  The  children's  muffled 
wails  redoubled,  Joan's  tearful  treble  urging  me 
to  "  Hurry  please !  " 

My  throat  was  dry  and  stiff  when  I  finally 
found  my  voice.  Placing  my  lips  to  the  crack 
of  the  door,  where  the  sound  would  carry  the 
most  easily  to  the  next  room,  I  shouted,  the  ring 
of  my  own  voice  in  my  ears  setting  my  heart  to 
throbbing  painfully : 

"  Joan,  listen !  Something 's  happened  to  the 
lock  of  my  door.  Take  Harry  and  run  to  Miss 
Drusilla's  room  if  you  're  too  frightened  to  stay 
alone." 

Her  tearful  voice  floated  faintly  back.  "We 
—  can't,  Miss  Belmont.  Our  door 's  locked  too. 
Oh,  I  'm  so  scared !  " 

That  sent  me  limp  against  the  damp  wall. 
Both  the  children  and  I  had  been  locked  in  our 
rooms.     Why?     By  whom? 

Between  the  muffled  sobs  next  door  there 
seemed  an  ominous  silence  brooding  over  the  rest 
of  the  house.  No  noise  had  come  from  Miss  Hal- 
dayne's  room  farther  down  the  hall,  nor  from 
Miss  Drusilla's,  almost  directly  opposite ;  yet  the 
sound  of  the  shot  —  if  it  had  been  a  shot  —  could 
not  have  failed  to  awaken  them.  The  key  on  the 
other  side   of  my   door  kept  me  from   seeing 


86  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

through  the  keyhole,  but  the  crack  at  the  bottom 
showed  no  light  lit  in  the  corridor  outside. 

I  was  opening  my  dry  lips  to  call  some  weak 
comfort  to  the  sobbing  youngsters  when  the 
dawning  words  were  smothered  in  my  throat.  A 
high,  treble  scream  —  a  howl,  rather  —  thin- 
edged,  like  the  almost  unendurable  shriek  of  a 
violin  bow,  vibrated  through  the  darkness. 
Long-drawn,  falling,  sinking,  rising  abruptly 
again:  "Ai-ee!  Ai-ee!"  Through  its  monoto- 
nous cadence,  more  dreadful  for  its  very  lack  of 
human  expression,  I  heard  the  children's  muffled 
sobs  stop,  silenced  by  chill  terror.  My  own 
blood  was  chilled,  I  felt  my  muscles  tense; 
smothered  though  it  was  by  dark  distance  and 
the  sheltering  door,  the  sound  made  the  darkness 
to  palpitate  about  me  and  become  tangible  and 
threatening. 

"  Ai-ee!     Ai-ee! " 

My  heart  choked  with  the  frightened  blood 
which  flung  itself  back  on  it.  What,  in  God's 
name,  was  down  there  in  the  dark  dining-room ! 

Then,  when  it  seemed  that  human  nerves  must 
snap  before  the  fear  of  the  unknown ;  that  human 
ear-drums  could  not  stand  the  shrill  terror  of  it, 
it  stopped  —  stopped  with  horrible  suddenness, 
as  when  a  hand  falls  upon  a  windpipe,  and  the 
ringing  silence  which  rushed  in  was  quite  as 
ominous  in  its  own  way. 


THE  HOWL  IN  THE  NIGHT         87 

I  felt  something  wet  trickling  down  my  fore- 
head —  cold  perspiration  forced  out  through  ter- 
ror. I  brushed  it  away  automatically,  and  the 
movement,  slight  as  it  was,  broke  the  tension 
and  I  found  that  I  could  use  my  lips. 

"  Joan,  Harry,"  I  called  and  the  words  came 
in  a  voice  I  did  not  recognize.  "  I  'm  here,  I  'm 
close  to  you.     Don't  be  frightened." 

A  long  smothered  sob  was  my  answer.  Then 
Joan's  voice  piped :  "  Miss  Belmont,  what  was 
that?  "  and  Harry's  wail  broke  out:  "  I  want  to 
go  to  you.     I  'm  —  scared !  " 

"  I  'm  here,  dear,  close  against  the  wall  in  the 
cerner  by  the  door."  I  tried  to  comfort  the 
terrified  child,  though  I  had  all  I  could  do  to 
strengthen  my  lips  enough  to  form  the  words. 
"  See,  we  're  almost  together ;  snuggle  against  the 
wall  on  that  side.  It 's  almost  as  if  my  arm  was 
around  you,  is  n't  it?  " 

"  N-no !  "  came  Harry's  honest  though  muffled 
roar,  but  his  sister's  embrace  and  the  sound  of 
my  voice  had  taken  the  edge  of  panic  from  him. 
In  between  my  shouted  assurances  my  thoughts 
were  racing  madly  hither  and  thither.  The  still- 
ness below  ached  like  a  great  void.  Where  were 
Miss  Haldayne  and  her  sister?  Where  was 
Hoang?  Who  had  locked  us  in?  Were  we  there 
that  we  might  not  interfere  or  were  we  prisoners 
to  be  attended  to  later?     That  was  a  pistol  shot 


88  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

which  had  awakened  me,  but  that  howl  —  for  it 
had  been  a  howl,  that  was  no  spontaneous  scream 
but  an  eerie  wail,  one  whose  cadence  was  one  of 
intent  —  what  did  that  mean? 

World-old  fear,  foolish  fear  of  the  supernat- 
ural, flashed  back  from  dead  ages  to  chill  me. 
Morbid  readings  of  my  college  days  leaped  to  life 
further  to  torment  my  quaking  brain.  Uncon- 
sciously Joan  touched  the  key  of  understanding. 

"  Miss  Belmont," —  the  enforced  calm  of  the 
little  girl's  voice  told  of  the  strong  self-control 
inherited  from  her  mother's  side  of  the  family  — 
"  that  sounded  something  like  Hoang,  did  n't 
it?" 

The  words  were  a  revelation.  With  dizzying 
swiftness  my  mind  flashed  back  to  some  literary 
data  I  had  at  one  time  looked  up.  Once  again  I 
was  back  in  the  high-arched  ivy-covered  univer- 
sity library.  Through  the  amber-glassed  case- 
ment windows  the  light  slanted  mildly  over  quiet 
figures  bowed  over  the  long  tables  below.  There 
had  been  a  book,  fat  and  brown-covered;  a  book 
of  curious  customs,  curiously  worded: 

.  .  .  And  when  the  Spirit  doth  at  length  leave  the  Body, 
then  do  all  present  beat  their  breasts  and  burst  forth  into 
lamentation,  loud  and  exceedingly  shrill.  A  most  unpleas- 
ant and  doleful  sound  which  greatly  distresseth  the  ear. 
This  the  Chinese  call  The  Death  Howl  .  .  . 


THE  HOWL  IN  THE  NIGHT         89 

The  thought  left  me  dumb.  Not  until  Joan's 
quaver  insisted,  "Didn't  it,  Miss  Belmont? 
Did  n't  it  sound  like  Hoang?  "  was  I  able  to  reply 
in  a  shaky  voice :  "  I  don't  know,  Joan.  It  was 
too  far  away." 

Still  the  ominous  silence  continued,  down- 
stairs. I  sternly  forbade  my  mind  to  dwell  on 
what  that  howl  could  have  meant,  lest  the 
thought  send  me  into  blind  panic.  The  wrench- 
ing and  shaking  of  the  knob  of  my  door  failed  to 
loosen  the  key  on  the  other  side.  I  was  not 
strong  enough  to  break  it  open;  nor  had  I  any 
weapon  with  which  to  break  one  of  the  stout  oak 
panels  through.  I  could  picture  the  children 
hunched,  shivering  in  their  little  night-gowns, 
against  the  wall ;  and,  calling  to  Joan,  I  told  her 
to  tuck  Harry  into  his  cot  and  then  to  crawl  into 
her  own.  Standing  chilled  in  the  dark  was  not 
going  to  help  matters  any. 

I  followed  my  own  advice  when  I  knew  that 
they  had  obeyed,  pulling  the  warm  bed- 
clothes around  my  shivering  body  but  sitting  bolt 
upright  and  wide-eyed  in  the  dark.  Not  a  sound 
filtered  to  my  strained  ears.  That  proved  con- 
clusively that  Miss  Haldayne  had  knowledge  of 
the  strange  happenings  of  this  night.  If  she 
had  been  in  her  room  I  should  have  heard  her  by 
now.     Miss  Drusilla  too  —  what  share  did  she 


90  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

have  in  this  mystery?  She  disliked  Hoang  as 
greatly  as  she  disliked  her  own  sister;  surely 
she  could  not  be  in  league  with  them.  Yet, 
directly  across  the  hall  from  me  as  her  room  was, 
I  should  surely  have  heard  her  voice  as  easily 
as  the  children's.  Even  assuming  that  she  too 
was  locked  in  her  room,  it  seemed  hardly  likely 
that  she  would  have  remained  silent  unless  she 
had  had  forewarning  of  this  disturbance.  Were 
both  the  sisters  downstairs  at  the  time  of  that 
shot,  and  —  a  shiver  shook  me  down  to  the  soles 
of  my  bare  feet  —  for  .  whom  was  the  death- 
howl? 

Minute  after  minute  ticked  away  by  my  little 
alarm-clock  on  the  dressing-table,  while  my 
thoughts  swam  in  wild  confusion.  Evidently  the 
warmth  of  bed  had  overcome  the  children's 
terror,  for  their  silence  told  of  sleep.  No  sound 
from  the  black  cavern  of  downstairs;  no  sound 
from  the  long  hall  outside  my  door.  Smothering 
darkness  pressed  against  the  wire  mesh  of  the 
windows  as  my  eyes  sought  their  direction ;  then 
I  found  myself  uttering  an  exclamation  of  as- 
tonishment, while  my  feet  were  reaching  for  the 
floor. 

A  pin-prick  of  light  had  appeared  out  there  on 
the  dunes,  a  light  closely  followed  by  another.  I 
pressed  my  face  against  the  cold,  wet  screen,  re- 
gardless of  the  damp  air  blowing  about  my  thinly 


THE  HOWL  IN  THE  NIGHT  91 

clad  body.  The  lights  bobbed  unsteadily,  now 
appearing  to  go  out  in  the  blackness,  now  sud- 
denly reappearing;  up  and  down,  up  and  down, 
always  that  same  distance  apart  —  lanterns  car- 
ried by  two  people  climbing  over  the  mounds  and 
swales  of  sand. 

I  watched  for  nearly  an  hour,  huddled  in  the 
quilt  I  had  taken  from  the  bed,  until  they  finally 
winked  out.  Moment  after  moment  passed  and 
they  did  not  prick  out  again.  The  chill  finally 
drove  me  to  my  bed. 

After  the  cold  and  the  strain,  the  warmth  of 
the  covers  acted  as  a  narcotic.  I  was  puzzled 
suddenly  to  find  myself  with  eyes  wide-staring 
at  the  daylight  which  filled  the  room.  Through 
the  squares  of  window  showed  dense  fog  instead 
of  sunshine;  it  was  plainly  past  my  usual  hour 
for  waking.  Memory  swooped  down  on  me  with 
a  shiver. 

I  swung  to  the  floor  and  pattered  across  the 
room  to  the  door.  The  knob  turned  easily  in  my 
hand ;  while  I  slept  the  door  had  been  softly  un- 
locked. 

More  shaken  by  that  than  if  I  had  remained 
a  prisoner,  I  hastily  pulled  my  clothes  on  with 
shaking  hands.  A  quick  glance  into  the  chil- 
dren's room  —  their  door,  too,  was  open  this 
morning  —  showed  them  sleeping ;  Joan  uneasily, 
because  of  the  rag  knobs.     I  did  not  wake  them, 


92  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

but  closed  the  door  softly  and  turned  with  a 
wildly  beating  heart  down  the  hall.  What  was 
I  to  find  at  the  foot  of  those  stairs?  Which  one 
of  our  little  household  would  be  missing? 


CHAPTEK  VII 

ANN    MAKES   A   DECISION 

THE  inverse  ratio  on  any  strong  emotion 
leaves  us  bewildered  and  strangely  void  of 
feeling.  I  do  not  know  what  I  had  expected 
when  I  descended  the  stairs  in  dread,  but  cer- 
tainly it  was  not  to  find  Miss  Haldayne  firmly 
entrenched  behind  the  coffee  urn  in  her  usual 
place ;  to  see  Hoang,  immaculate  and  irreproach- 
able as  ever  in  fresh  white  linen,  reaching  over 
to  deposit  a  smoking  stack  of  hot  cakes  before 
her,  while  Miss  Drusilla,  opposite,  placidly 
emptied  the  cream-jug  into  her  cup  of  steaming 
coffee. 

The  inverse  ratio  I  have  mentioned  forbade  me 
even  to  feel  relief  for  the  moment,  so  great  was 
my  amazement.  I  know  that  I  stood  motionless 
there  in  the  red-curtained  doorway,  my  mouth 
sagging  ludicrously,  too  utterly  astonished  to  ad- 
vance to  the  chair  which  Hoang,  who  had  first 
sighted  me,  had  drawn  back  politely.  It  was 
only  Miss  Haldayne,  looking  up  in  frank  impa- 

93 


94  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

tience  at  my  inactivity,  that  galvanized  me  into 
life  and  advanced  me  stiffly  to  my  place. 

"  Oatmeal,  Ann?  "  Miss  Haldayne  matter-of- 
f actly  poised  the  spoon  over  an  empty  mush-bowl. 

u  Pl-please,"  I  stammered,  wondering  which 
was  the  nightmare,  the  weird  happenings  of  last 
night  or  the  placid  commonplaces  of  this  morn- 
ing. Miss  Haldayne-  seemed  as  usual,  when  I 
studied  her  severe  profile  while  she  served  me. 
A  little  grimmer,  perhaps,  but  certainly  not  like 
one  who  had  gone  through  a  soul-racking  experi- 
ence in  a  lonely  house  at  midnight.  Miss  Dru- 
silla  was  not  in  such  perfect  poise.  She  was  far 
less  loquacious  than  usual.  After  a  fluttery 
"  good  morning  "  her  eyes  again  dropped  to  her 
coffee-cup,  where  she  was  piling  sugar  after  her 
usual  habit.  Her  hand  was  trembling,  I  noticed, 
and  she  was  more  like  a  timid  white  rabbit 
than  ever.  But  this  might  signify  nothing.  I 
had  seen  her  look  so  when  Miss  Haldayne,  net- 
tled beyond  endurance  by  her  sister's  gnat  stings, 
had  paused  to  take  an  extra  determined  verbal 
slap  at  her  tormentor.  There  might  have  been  a 
passage  of  words  between  the  sisters  just  before 
I  entered.  That  would  account  for  the  younger's 
agitation  and  for  the  elder's  grimness. 

My  untasted  mush  before  me,  I  waited  until 
Hoang's  white  back  had  vanished  behind  the 
swing-door  before  I  opened  my  lips  to  speak, 


ANN  MAKES  A  DECISION  95 

My  words  died  a-borriin'  as  my  Scotch  ancestors 
would  have  put  it.  Miss  Haldayne  turned  to  me 
with  a  crease  of  annoyance  between  her  black 
brows. 

"  Where  's  Joan  and  Harry?  Why  can't  they 
get  here  in  time  for  their  breakfast?  " 

The  unexpectedness  of  this,  and  its  injustice, 
took  my  breath  away  and  struck  a  note  of  anger 
when  I  did  speak. 

"  They  're  asleep  —  worn  out,  the  poor  little 
youngsters,  after  last  night's  terrible  experi- 
ence !  " 

I  was  not  facing  her,  but  I  seemed  to  feel  Miss 
Drusilla's  eyes  flutter  to  my  indignant  profile 
and  rest  there  in  fright.  Miss  Haldayne's  gaze 
never  wavered,  but  I  sensed  that  her  fingers 
tightened  about  the  handle  of  her  fork. 

"  Meaning  what,  Ann?  " 

The  sublime  audacity  of  it  almost  floored  me. 
"  Meaning  that  we  were  all  awakened  by  the 
sound  of  a  shot,  followed  by  a  horrible  and  un- 
earthly howl  —  in  Hoang's  voice,  Miss  Hal- 
dayne !  That  I  jumped  from  my  bed  and  ran  to 
the  door — " 

Eliza  Haldayne  interrupted  me,  appar- 
ently with  unusual  haste :  "  Surely  you  are  n't 
going  to  develop  nerves  because  poor  Hoang  had 
a  nightmare,  Ann !  It 's  hardly  the  right  exam- 
ple for  the  children.     Joan  's  so  nervous  now 


96  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

she  ?s  almost  jumping  out'of  her  skin.  I  hoped 
your  common  sense  would  curb  that  instead  of 
encouraging  her  foolishness." 

The  supreme  impertinence  of  it  choked  me. 
Struggling  to  remain  calm,  I  was  beginning, 
"  Miss  Haldayne,  you  surely  don't  mean  to  tell 
me — "  when  I  interrupted  myself.  The  noise- 
less Hoang  pitter-patted  into  the  room  with  my 
portion  of  hot  cakes.  Before  he  left  Miss  Hal- 
dayne folded  her  napkin  and  rose,  as  though  seiz- 
ing the  opportunity  to  escape  without  explana- 
tions. Impetuously  I  thrust  my  chair  back  and 
followed,  regardless  of  Miss  Drusilla's  half- 
formed —  and  indeed  half-heard  —  exclamation 
of  alarm.  In  the  hall,  where  the  shadows  ren- 
dered her  expression  utterly  unreadable,  I 
caught  up  with  my  employer. 

"  Miss  Haldayne,"  I  burst  out,  anger  burning 
away  the  usual  restraint  I  felt  with  this  strange 
woman,  "  there  's  no  use  in  our  playing  at  cross- 
purposes  like  this.  Something  happened  in  this 
house  last  night,  something — dreadful.  I  was 
awakened  by  a  shot  and  a  few  seconds  later  came 
a  horrible  howl  —  a  Chinese  death-howl,  Miss 
Haldayne.  I  had  that  explained  to  me  once.  I 
ran  to  my  door.  It  was  locked  —  from  the  out- 
side. Miss  Haldayne  —  and  so  was  the  children's 
door." 

"  Nonsense,  Ann !    What  you  call  a  shot  was  a 


ANN  MAKES  A  DECISION  97 

shutter  blown  back  against  the  wall  by  the  wind. 
I  found  it  so  this  morning  when  I  came  down.  I 
told  Hoang  to  put  a  new  catch  on  it  to-day.  And 
as  for  all  this  nonsense  about  a  death-howl  — 
whatever  in  the  world  that  is  —  that 's  out-and- 
out  ridiculous,  Ann,  and  you  know  it!  Hoang 
had  a  nightmare  and  yelled  just  like  a  lot  of 
other  human  beings  yell  when  they  're  scared. 
For  Heaven's  sake,  you  're  not  going  to  get  hys- 
terical because  a  servant  gets  the  nightmare! 
You  '11  be  seeing  ghosts  next." 

"  It  was  no  ghost  that  locked  my  door  from  the 
other  side  after  I  had  locked  myself  in  and  left 
the  key  in  the  lock,"  I  reminded  her,  my  quiet 
tone  giving  little  hint  of  the  hot  anger  raging 
within. 

"  You  've  confessed  yourself  that  it 's  non- 
sense," she  returned.  "  How  could  any  one  get 
another  key  in  the  lock  if  you  left  your  own 
there?  " 

"  The  key  fits  very  loosely.  It  could  easily  be 
poked  out  from  the  other  side  by  a  piece  of  wire 
or  even  by  another  key,  for  that  matter.  It  had 
fallen  on  the  floor,  I  had  to  grope  for  it.  1 
could  n't  get  it  back  into  the  lock  because  the 
second  key  was  still  in  snugly  from  the  opposite 
side." 

"  You  did  n't  try  right.  You  were  probably 
half -asleep  and  did  n't  even  turn  it.     Your  door 


98  WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

may  be  sticking  again."     The  impatience  fairly 
rang  through  Eliza  Haldayne's  voice. 

But  I  refused  to  be  browbeaten.  Irish  temper 
overcame  Scotch  caution.  "  I  suppose  the  chil- 
dren imagined  that  their  door  was  locked,  too, 
when  they  were  frightened  and  wanted  to  get  out 
of  their  room  and  run  to  me?"  I  inquired  sarcas- 
tically. 

She  took  this  gravely.  "  No,  their  door  was 
locked.  I  locked  it  myself  just  before  I  went  to 
bed.  Harry's  got  a  habit  of  walking  in  his 
sleep.  He  caught  a  bad  cold  last  winter  doing 
that  and  I  did  n't  want  to  take  any  chances  with 
him.  Don't  go  'round  looking  for  trouble,  Ann, 
and  don't  let  your  imagination  run  away  with 
you." 

This  flared  my  resentment  to  a  white-hot  flame. 
My  slight  body  seemed  to  grow  and  expand  with 
the  volume  of  my  indignation  until  it  equaled  in 
stature  the  big  woman  before  me. 

"  My  imagination,  as  you  call  it,  Miss  Hal- 
dayne,  has  too  much  to  feed  on  here.  I  'm  afraid 
I  '11  have  to  take  it  from  Dune  House  before  it 
assumes  greater  proportions.  Hoang  might 
have  another  nightmare." 

My  words  spattered  at  her  like  so  much  shot. 
I  could  not  read  her  expression  in  the  gloom. 
There  was  no  relaxation  of  that  upright  figure, 
but  I  somehow  gained  the  impression  of  bleak 


ANN  MAKES  A  DECISION  99 

loneliness,  like  a  gaunt  rock  continually  gnawed 
and  lashed  by  the  waves  which  were  wasting  it 
away.  Then  her  voice  came  and  it  was  a  sur- 
prisingly tender,  sadly  gentle  voice,  such  as  I  had 
not  believed  the  blunt  woman  capable  of  using. 

"  I  '11  be  sorry  to  see  you  go,  Ann,  but  —  I 
can't  blame  you."  Then  she  had  turned,  briskly 
as  always,  and  whisked  herself  upstairs  to  the 
disarranged  bedrooms. 

I  went  slowly  up  to  my  own  and  sat  down  on 
the  edge  of  my  unmade  bed.  The  first  sharp  edge 
of  my  anger  had  dulled.  In  my  mind  I  reviewed 
the  situation.  As  usual,  second  thoughts  re- 
versed the  first.  I  found,  with  an  element  of  sur- 
prise, that  it  would  be  rather  a  wrench  to  leave 
Dune  House.  Despite  the  mystery  and  the  unex- 
plained and  nerve-racking  threat  hanging  over 
the  place  I  had  been  rather  contented  here.  The 
quiet,  the  plain  wholesome  food,  the  vigorous  salt 
air  —  all  this  had  changed  the  pale  girl  who  had 
come  from  the  city  some  months  before.  The  re- 
flection in  the  mirror  opposite  was  almost  that  of 
a  stranger:  smooth  tanned  cheeks,  clear  eyes, 
hair  shining  with  health  —  for  this  I  had  to 
thank  Dune  House.  I  felt  a  very  real  affection, 
too,  for  Joan  and  Harry ;  even,  strangely  enough, 
for  the  eccentric  woman  who  had  engaged  me. 
Should  I  go  and  leave  the  trusting  youngsters  to 
the  menace  which  overhung  the  place?  leave  them 


100         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

to  the  mercy  of  their  too-vivid  imaginations?  rob 
them  of  the  only  companionship  their  little 
hearts  had  ever  known?  To  other  ears  my  story 
would  sound  ridiculous  and  would  entangle  me 
in  a  net  of  insinuations  which  I  could  not  prove. 
I  could  substantiate  nothing.  I  should  be  looked 
upon  as  a  more-or-less  harmless  idiot  if  I  at- 
tempted to  have  the  children  put  under  other 
control. 

At  this  point  a  timid  knock  sounded  on  the 
door  and  Joan's  dark  head  came  around  it.  Her 
seal-brown  eyes  were  pathetically  large  in  the 
pale  face  this  morning.  Harry  was  clinging  to 
her,  a  round-eyed,  frightened  Harry,  distress- 
ingly delicate  for  his  six  years.  At  the  sight  of 
me  their  faces  lit  up,  and,  suddenly  emboldened, 
they  raced  to  my  arms. 

"Miss  Belmont,  what  was  it  last  night? 
Harry  says  maybe  we  dreamed  it,  but  we  both 
could  n't  dream  the  same  thing,  could  we?  " 

In  the  brief  moment  before  I  replied  my  deci- 
sion was  made.  Leave  Dune  House  while  it  held 
these  two  pale  babies  in  its  grim  clutch!  Flee 
from  an  unknown  fear  and  toss  two  small  hearts 
behind  me  into  a  chasm  of  loneliness  and  terror? 
Ann  Belmont  could  never  be  such  a  self-centered 
wretch !■ 

Both  little  forms  hugged   tightly   to  me,  I 


ANN  MAKES  A  DECISION  101 

reached  out  easily  for  Miss  Haldayne's  ready- 
made  explanation, 

"  It  was  Hoang,  chickens ;  he  had  a  nightmare. 
And  that  loud  noise  that  woke  us  all  up,  that 
was  a  shutter  banging  against  the  wall." 

But  inwardly  I  was  promising  myself  fiercely 
that  two  things  I  would  do  and  at  once.  I  would 
watch  Hoang  when  he  thought  himself  unob- 
served, playing  detective  on  my  own  hook  until 
I  could  convince  Miss  Haldayne  of  his  guilt ;  and 
I  would  find  out  what  lay  behind  the  door  of  that 
secret  room. 

In  the  next  few  days  when  things  had  appar- 
ently settled  to  an  unbroken  routine  of  study, 
play  and  sleep,  I  noticed  two  things  which 
caused  my  now  over-alert  brain  to  note  them 
suspiciously  down. 

Hoang  always  wore  white  now  —  white,  the 
badge  of  Chinese  mourning !  —  and  as  he  served 
us  at  meal  times,  I  noticed  beneath  the  loose 
sleeve  of  his  linen  blouse  a  tightly  wound  band- 
age, a  bandage  which  appeared  to  continue  up  to 
the  elbow  as  though  his  arm  had  been  badly 
wounded.  Later,  while  helping  Miss  Drusilla 
sort  stockings  in  a  heap  for  mending,  I  asked 
casually :  "  What  has  happened  to  Hoang' s  arm? 
I  see  he  's  had  it  bandaged  for  the  last  two  days." 

My  eyes  were  on  the  stockings  in  my  lap,  but  I 


102        'Wil^D  AL0N Q  THE  WASTE 

felt  Miss  Drusilla's  gaze  flutter  to  my  face  as  it 
had  on  the  morning  following  the  death-howl. 
There  was  a  tense  silence  in  the  little  sitting- 
room  for  a  minute,  broken  only  by  the  ticking 
of  the  onyx  clock  on  the  mantelpiece.  I  sud- 
denly lifted  my  eyes. 

A  curious  indecision  was  battling  in  Miss  Dru- 
silla's  spongy  face.  For  the  first  time  I  saw  a 
resemblance  between  the  sisters.  A  devil  of 
spite,  and  fear  too,  gleamed  from  her  pale-blue 
eyes,  her  lips  fairly  twitched  with  the  ghosts  of 
words  seeking  to  materialize;  then  a  flutter 
passed  over  the  fat  white  face,  the  air  expelled 
from  her  lungs  in  a  regretful  little  wheeze,  her 
eyes  plunged  by  mine  to  the  opened  door  to  the 
hall.  Miss  Haldayne  was  passing  briskly  along 
it,  her  arms  full  of  bedclothes  to  be  aired  on  the 
sunny  side  veranda.  In  a  moment  she  had 
flashed  by  the  shaded  little  room,  nor  did  she 
turn  her  head,  but  her  passing  was  sufficient  to 
prevent  Miss  Drusilla's  confidence.  The  domi- 
nant will  had  completely  overcast  the  weaker,  as 
a  stern  sun  might  pull  a  refractory  planet  back 
to  its  allotted  orbit. 

Miss  Drusilla  became  a  fluttery  white  rabbit 
again,  sorting  stockings. 

"  Hoang's  arm  ?  Oh,  yes.  He  burned  himself 
on  the  wash-boiler  the  other  morning.  The 
kitchen  's  no  place  for  a  man,  whether  he 's  a 


ANN  MAKES  A  DECISION  103 

white  man  or  a  heathen.  A  good  woman  cook, 
that's  what  Eliza  ought  to  get,  but,  there  —  I 
don't  suppose  you  could  get  a  woman  to  stay 
here.  How  you  've  stayed  so  long  is  a  mystery 
to  me,  Ann, —  this  gloomy  old  place.  When  I 
was  a  girl  —  always  something  lively,  but  then, 
if  I  do  say  it,  I  was  a  mighty  pretty  girl;  of 
course  that  is  n't  what  /  think,  but  hundreds  of 
young  men  have  said  so.  There  was  one  —  a 
wonderful  young  man  he  was,  and  quite  a  catch, 
and  he  said — "  and  so,  ad  infinitum. 

I  checked  it  up  on  my  mental  records:  so, 
Hoang's  arm  had  been  hurt  the  other  night  and 
Miss  Drusilla  knew  how,  but  was  afraid  to  say. 
This  cleared  up  my  mystery  not  a  whit,  but  it 
served  to  increase  my  dislike  for  and  distrust  of 
the  Chinaman. 

I  had  noticed,  too,  since  that  nerve-racking 
night,  a  new  desperation  in  Miss  Haldayne's 
eyes.  Her  manner  was  as  preoccupied,  her 
movements  as  vigorous  and  brisk,  but  her  eyes 
held  a  strained  hopelessness,  like  one  fighting 
alone,  with  his  back  to  the  wall. 

Then  one  morning  I  woke  to  find  that  she  had 
departed  to  the  nearest  town  for  supplies,  leav- 
ing early,  while  we  still  slept.  It  was  Hoang 
who  gave  this  information  as  Miss  Drusilla 
seated  herself  at  the  breakfast-table  and  I  loosed 
myself  from  the  morning  embraces  of  Joan  and 


104         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

Harry.  He  came  into  the  room  silently  in  his 
felt  slippers  and  placed  the  steaming  bowl  of 
oatmeal  before  Miss  Drusilla,  with  the  comment : 
"Missy  Haldayne,  she  go  town  to  get  things. 
She  back  this  afternoon.  You  want  chocolate  or 
milk  for  chil'en?  " 

I  could  see  that  Miss  Drusilla  was  indignant 
under  her  fluttery  attempt  at  calm.  Twice  be- 
fore had  Miss  Haldayne  made  such  a  trip  since 
I  had  come  to  Dune  House,  but  each  time  she  had 
told  us  in  advance.  Now  the  uncomfortable 
thought  occurred  to  me  that  it  would  be  a  simple 
matter  for  something  to  have  happened  to  her 
while  our  suspicions  were  blandly  parried  by  the 
laconic  Chinaman. 

That  the  same  fear  had  occurred  to  Miss  Dru- 
silla was  apparent  when  she  next  spoke.  Hoang 
left  the  room  and  her  faded  blue  eyes  followed 
his  enigmatical  white  back  spitefully.  Her  tone 
was  fretful. 

"  That  ?s  a  funny  thing  for  Eliza  to  do !  Any- 
thing might  happen  to  her  and  we  'd  be  none  the 
wiser.  The  Lord  knows  what  might  take  place 
in  this  house,  too,  while  she  ?s  away !  " 

Joan's  sharp  little  ears  pricked  up  at  this. 
"WThat  things,  Aunt  Drusilla?"  she  inquired 
with  a  freedom  she  lacked  when  her  austere 
guardian  was  present.  "  What  could  happen  to 
us?" 


ANN  MAKES  A  DECISION  105 

I  chimed  in  quickly,  striking  at  the  alert  fear 
which  reared  its  head  through  the  little  girPs 
treble.  "Your  aunt  was  speaking  figuratively, 
dear.  Lots  of  times  we  say  things  that  sound 
stronger  than  we  mean  them.  Why,  what  could 
happen  here !  "  This  last  was  in  a  tone  which  I 
meant  for  scornful  ridicule,  but  Joan  interpreted 
it  as  a  serious  question. 

"  There  's  the  — "  She  suddenly  stopped  and 
smothered  her  words  with  a  mouthful  of  mush. 

My  mind  finished  the  forbidden  sentence  for 
her.  There  was  the  secret  room,  indeed;  there 
was  the  menace  which  mystery  always  brings. 
All  morning  that  thought  was  with  me,  rustling 
the  leaves  of  my  imagination;  sliding  its  ugly 
head  over  the  tops  of  the  school-books  as  I  heard 
the  children's  lessons;  reminding  me  of  the  sec- 
ond part  of  that  resolve  I  had  made.  This  was  a 
heaven-sent  opportunity  to  explore  the  secret 
room ;  to  discover  or  allay  my  fears.  Miss  Hal- 
dayne  never  returned  from  these  expeditions  un- 
til late  in.the  afternoon.  Once  the  children  were 
set  to  playing  after  luncheon  I  should  be  free  to 
rummage  the  house  unmolested  for  three  hours 
at  least. 

I  formed  my  plans  on  the  morning  walk.  The 
high  fog  had  not  lifted  to-day;  the  sea  and  the 
sky  were  smoky  pearl,  like  the  curved  white 
hollow   of    an    oyster-shell.     Even   above    high- 


106         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

water  mark  the  sand  clung  damply  to  our  shoes. 
The  tide  was  low,  the  dismal  sloping  beach 
strewn  with  brown  kelp,  sinuous  and  shiny,  some 
of  it  large  as  a  man's  wrist  and  disgustingly 
snake-like.  The  fog  clung  tenaciously  to  the 
house,  looming  wraith-like,  like  a  sulky  ghost 
squatting  on  the  sand,  waiting  for  the  next  high 
tide  to  carry  it  off  to  sea. 

My  eyes  fell  on  the  window  of  the  secret  room 
at  the  right-hand  corner,  tight-shuttered  and  for- 
bidden. A  ladder  placed  against  the  outside  of 
the  house  and,  by  standing  on  tiptoe,  one  would 
be  on  a  level  with  a  slat  missing  in  the  shutter. 
Common  sense  railed  at  quaking  imagination. 
At  least  one  mystery  would  be  removed ;  I  might 
obtain  some  clue  which  would  help  to  explain  the 
unknown  fear  hanging  over  the  house. 

There  was  a  step-ladder  in  the  unused  back 
parlor,  I  remembered.  Only  the  day  before  I 
had  seen  Miss  Haldayne,  skirts  capably  looped 
up  over  a  striped  flannel  petticoat,  standing  on 
its  top  rungs,  cleaning  the  great  gilt  picture- 
frames  with  ammonia  and  water. 

I  shortened  the  children's  lessons  when  I  heard 
Miss  Drusilla  plodding  upstairs  for  her  after- 
noon nap;  and  turned  them  out  to  play  on  the 
upper  veranda  overlooking  the  ocean.  Then, 
silent  save  for  a  wildly  thumping  heart,  I  flew 
down  the  shadowy  stairs  to  the  back  parlor. 


ANN  MAKES  A  DECISION  107 

The  ladder  was  still  there,  folded  against  the 
wall  in  a  dark  corner.  Luckily  it  was  not  too 
long  for  me  to  manage  by  myself.  Once  the  end 
ran  into  an  angle  of  the  wall  and  I  stopped  fear- 
fully to  listen.  Hoang  I  could  hear  shuffling 
about  in  the  kitchen  at  the  end  of  the  corridor. 
The  children's  happy  voices  floated  faintly  down 
through  the  opened  French  window. 

I  continued  as  silently  as  I  could  and  got  the 
cumbersome  thing  down  the  steps  without  too 
much  scraping,  and  around  to  the  corner  of  the 
house. 

More  than  the  fog  had  penetrated  my  blood 
by  now  and  was  setting  my  teeth  a-chatter.  The 
ladder's  top  scraped  against  the  wooden  window- 
sill  as  I  raised  it,  for  all  my  painstaking  efforts. 
It  caused  me  to  hesitate,  one  foot  on  the  lower 
rung;  half -fearfully  expecting  to  see  Joan's  "  ter- 
rible face"  pressed  fiercely  against  the  missing 
leaf  of  the  shutter  to  see  what  was  invading  its 
sanctum.  Then,  gripping  my  courage  with  set 
teeth,  I  started  to  mount. 

I  suppose  my  outward  ears  had  heard  the 
squeaking  before,  but  my  preoccupation  had  at- 
tached no  significance  to  the  sound.  Now  I  be- 
came aware  of  it  with  a  gasp  that  caused  my 
heart  to  leap  painfully  and  left  me  clinging  flatly, 
midway  up  the  ladder,  like  a  limpet  on  a  rock. 

Before  the  house  a  small  delivery  truck, — 


108         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

hired,  I  guessed,  in  the  nearest  little  town, —  had 
come  to  a  jolting  stop.  Its  sunburned  and 
frankly  curious  driver  was  helping  a  small  Fili- 
pino to  lower  its  heavy  load  to  the  ground. 
Rather  startlingly  this  proved  to  be  a  swathed 
figure  in  a  large  wheeled  chair  —  a  man's  figure, 
one  guessed,  from  the  firmly  molded  features  of 
the  pale  face  visible  beneath  disfiguring  smoked 
glasses. 

Two  shabby  suit-cases  were  placed  on  the 
ground  as  well,  but  at  the  driver's  offer  to  wheel 
the  chair  up  the  sandy,  unkept  path  to  the  house, 
the  Filipino  emphatically  shook  his  head.  Not 
until  the  jerky  little  truck  had  started  to  rattle 
its  homeward  way  across  the  dunes  did  he  move, 
then  it  was  to  take  his  place  behind  the  chair  and 
wheel  it  slowly  along,  a  ludicrously  small  Sisy- 
phus whose  stone  threatened  to  roll  back  and  an- 
nihilate him  each  minute. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  PARALYTIC   MAN 

FOR  a  moment  sheer  amazement  kept  me,  a 
scared  little  Prometheus  guiltily  suspended 
between  heaven  and  earth.  The  somber  proces- 
sion advanced  to  the  shallow  wooden  steps,  the 
rhythmic  squeak  of  the  chair  wheels,  ever  grow- 
ing louder,  falling  on  the  ear  with  an  indescrib- 
ably mournful  effect.  As  it  halted  I  heard  the 
front  door  wTheeze  back  rheumatically  on  its 
hinges,  saw  Miss  Brasilia's  palpitating  bulk  fill 
the  entrance,  caught  a  disquieting  glimpse  of 
Hoang's  white  figure  in  the  gloom  of  the  hall 
beyond. 

What  a  fastastic  group  we  should  have  ap- 
peared could  we  have  been  transformed  to  can- 
vas at  that  moment!  —  a  weird  puzzle-picture 
whose  meaning  was  somewhere  hidden  in  the  in- 
congruous grouping.  The  wheeled  chair  with  its 
sad  burden  and  dusky  guardian,  the  frightened, 
flabby  woman  in  the  gaping  doorway,  the  nar- 
row-eyed, inscrutable  Chinese  in  the  ghostly 
gloom  behind  her,  the  white-faced  girl  clinging 

109 


110        WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

limpet-fashion  to  her  ladder;  over  it  all  the 
smoky  pearl  arch  of  the  sky  and  the  mournful 
cadence  of  the  sea  flinging  itself  incessantly  on 
wet  sands. 

The  tableau  was  broken  when  the  Filipino 
said  something  intelligible  only  to  the  man  he 
wheeled.  The  figure  in  the  chair  did  not  stir 
other  than  to  lift  an  arm  and  drop  it  wearily 
again. 

"  This  is  Dune  House?  "  His  tone  was  low 
and  hollow,  a  voice  which  seemed  by  rights  to 
belong  to  a  man  much  older  than  he  appeared 
beneath  the  disguising  glasses.  "  I  am  looking 
for  my  aunts,  the  Misses  Haldayne."  The  white 
face  turned  blindly  in  the  direction  he  addressed. 

I  heard  a  little  gasp  from  Miss  Drusilla,  audi- 
ble even  at  that  distance  and  the  face  of  Hoang 
appeared  to  my  oblique  vision  to  grow  sharper. 
As  if  he  too  had  heard  the  telltale  sound,  the 
man  in  the  chair  added  simply,  "  I  am  George 
Rogers." 

Miss  Drusilla's  perplexity  was  truly  pitiful 
to  see.  She  looked  alternately  from  the  man  in 
the  chair  to  the  two  battered  suit-cases.  Her 
face  screwed  up  with  indecision  and  anxiety, 
like  that  of  an  infant  about  to  burst  into  tears. 
"George  Rogers!  I  —  I  —  Oh,  I  don't  know 
what  to  do !  " 

"  You  received  my  telegram?  "  came  the  too- 


THE  PAEALYTIC  MAN  111 

old  voice  from  the  chair,  a  voice  which  sounded 
as  though  all  the  strength  and  youth  had  been 
sapped  from  it. 

"  No!  "  was  forced  from  Miss  Drusilla's  lungs. 
"  George  Eogers !     Whatever  will  Eliza  say !  " 

She  had  come  out  on  the  porch  now,  too  much 
agitated  to  notice  my  guilty  figure,  afraid  to 
move  from  its  undignified  perch.  She  stood  on 
the  top  step,  a  frail  figure  somehow,  despite  the 
bulk  of  flesh,  her  pudgy  hands  pressed  tightly  to- 
gether as  though  drawing  comfort  from  the  im- 
pact. "What  has  happened!  Whatever  has 
happened !    Why,  you  were  never  like  this !  " 

A  laugh,  dry  as  a  consumptive's  cough, 
hacked  from  the  man.  "  A  trifling  memento  of 
the  war,  Aunt  Drusilla  —  you  are  Aunt  Drusilla, 
aren't  you?  So  you  didn't  get  my  telegram; 
your  voice  sounds  shocked.  To  state  it  baldly,  I 
have  wished  myself  upon  you  and  Aunjt  Eliza, 
for  the  time  being  at  least,  until  other  arrange- 
ments can  be  made.  I  've  come  here  to  stay  be- 
cause—  well,  because  there  isn't  another  place 
for  me  in  all  of  this  hospitable  world." 

The  shock  of  this  fetched  me  half-tumbling  to 
the  ground,  but  Miss  Drusilla  neither  saw  nor 
cared  what  my  occupation  had  been.  If  her 
voice  had  been  shocked  before,  it  was  stricken 
now. 

"To  stay!     Oh,  what  shall  I  do!     If  only 


112        WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

Eliza  were  here !  "  Then  belated  politeness  came 
limping  to  her  aid.  "  Of  course  I  'm  glad  to  see 
you,  George,  I  'm  sure.  We  'd  be  delighted  to 
have  you  stay  here,  but,  really,  we  have  n't  very 
much  room  " —  this  in  the  face  of  those  empty 
bedrooms  upstairs !  "  It  rests  entirely  with 
Eliza.  You  —  you  '11  come  into  the  house?  "  she 
finished  lamely. 

The  man  in  the  chair  laughed  dryly  again. 
"  That 's  what  I  traveled  over  three  thousand 
miles  to  do,  Aunt  Drusilla.  Is  there  some  one 
who  can  help  Rafael  with  this  confounded 
chair?  " 

Silently  Hoang  came  forward  and  grasped 
the  bottom  of  the  chair.  As  he  did  so  his  eyes 
fell  on  me,  took  in  the  telltale  ladder  leaning 
under  the  corner  window,  and  the  guilty  clasp 
of  my  hand  on  its  rung.  It  was  only  a  moment 
that  the  angry  dislike  glittered  at  me  from  be- 
tween the  slanting  lids,  then  the  eyes  were  dis- 
creetly lowered  and  he  backed  slowly  up  the  steps 
with  his  burden. 

I  waited  until  I  saw  the  stranger  wheeled  into 
the  house,  until  Hoang  had  carried  his  baggage 
inside  and  shut  the  front  door,  then  I  hastily 
folded  the  ladder  and  as  noiselessly  as  possible  I 
carried  it  on  to  the  porch,  my  appetite  for  ex- 
ploration entirely  dissipated,  my  only  desire  to 
avoid  further  discovery. 


THE  PARALYTIC  MAN  113 

As  I  cautiously  introduced  my  head  into  the 
dark  hall  to  see  if  the  coast  was  clear,  I  saw  that 
the  door  of  the  little  sitting-room  was  closed. 
From  behind  it  came  the  indistinct  murmur  of 
voices;  the  dry  taut  tone  of  the  stranger,  Miss 
Drusilla's  panic-stricken  wheeze.  Nor  was  this 
all:  a  white-clad  figure  loomed  indistinct  and 
ghost-like  in  the  gloom,  a  figure  with  head  bent 
close  to  the  crack  of  the  door,  that  no  muffled 
word  might  escape  the  listening  ears  —  the  figure 
of  Hoang. 

He  wheeled,  startled  at  the  fall  of  my  foot- 
steps; his  slant  eyes  wider  than  I  had  ever  seen 
them,  the  white  linen  coat  over  his  chest  rising 
and  falling  rapidly.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had 
ever  had  him  at  a  disadvantage  and  I  stared 
meaningly  to  cover  the  awkwardness  of  my  own 
position. 

Hoang  recovered  with  a  visible  effort.  Again 
the  lids  dropped  obsequiously ;  his  voice  inquired 
meekly,  "  Missy  Belmont,  you  want  me  carry 
ladder  in?" 

Even  through  my  anger  I  had  to  applaud, 
however  reluctantly,  his  astuteness.  He  had  ef- 
fectually blocked  any  reproof  by  this  apparently 
innocent  reference  to  my  own  guilt.  I  grew  sud- 
denly reckless.  What  was  the  value  of  any  at- 
tempt at  concealment? 

"  Yes,"  I  flung  over  my  shoulder  in  what  I 


114        WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

hoped  was  a  cool  tone.  "  Take  it  to  the  back 
parlor." 

It  was  a  condition  and  an  acceptance.  I  felt 
my  face  flaming  as  I  continued  on  up  the  stairs, 
that  Fate  had  thus  forced  me  into  a  truce,  how- 
ever brief,  with  the  obnoxious  Chinaman. 

I  found  Joan  and  Harry,  their  little  stomachs 
doubled  over  the  banister,  trying  to  hear  what 
was  going  on  downstairs.  Joan  looked  up  at  me 
through  the  meshes  of  her  dark  hair,  her  face 
scarlet  from  her  inverted  exercises. 

"  Is  it  Cousin  George,  Miss  Belmont?  Aunt 
Drusilla  called  him  George  Rogers,  did  n't  she?  " 

"  What 's  a-matter  with  his  legs?  "  demanded 
Harry,  as  I  reversed  the  stout  little  boots  which 
had  been  pointing  ceilingward  rather  alarm- 
ingly.    "  Joan  said  he  never  usta  be  like  that." 

In  the  school-room,  where  I  felt  reasonably 
sure  that  Hoang's  listening  ears  could  not  hear,  I 
demanded,  "  Who  is  Cousin  George,  Joan?  " 

"  I  saw  him  once  when  Mama  was  alive,"  the 
little  girl  answered  in  roundabout  childish  fash- 
ion. "  He  came  to  the  house.  Harry  was  only  a 
little  tiny  thing;  he  don't  remember  him  at  all." 

Ignoring  my  murmured  "  Does  n't,  Joan,"  she 
went  on. 

"  He  brought  me  a  doll  in  a  pink  dress,  but  the 
elastic  came  out  of  its  legs  after  a  while.  He  was 
awful  nice.     He  could  walk  then  and  he  did  n't 


THE  PARALYTIC  MAN  115 

have  those  black  things  over  his  eyes.    Mama 
cried  when  he  went  away  — " 

"  But  who  is  he?  "  I  reiterated  patiently.  u  Is 
he  a  real  cousin?  " 

"  I  guess  so,"  the  little  girl  replied.  "  I  heard 
Mama  and  Papa  talk  after  he  'd  gone.  His  real 
name's  George  Rogers  Haldayne;  Mama  and 
Papa  called  him  George  Rogers  all  the  time,  but 
I  called  him  Cousin  George.  I  've  told  Harry 
about  him  before.  He  went  way  off  some  place ; 
over  the  sea,  it  was,  far  away.  They  said  where, 
but  I  can't  remember.  That  was  the  only  time 
I  ever  saw  him  and  he  made  a  cunning  little 
white  rabbit  with  his  napkin  at  dinner  for  me. 
I  was  sorry  when  he  went  away.  Mama  and 
Papa  died  after  that  and  we  came  here  to  live 
with  Aunt  Eliza  and  Aunt  Drusilla." 

"  What 's  a-matter  with  his  legs?  "  Harry  was 
still  demanding  vociferously  between  pauses. 

u  He  's  been  to  the  war,"  I  explained,  my  mind 
busy  wondering  what  changes  this  new  addition 
might  make  in  our  queer  household. 

In  the  midst  of  their  volley  of  questions  called 
forth  by  this,  and  which  I  was  doing  my  best  to 
answer,  I  suddenly  broke  off  and  hurried  to  the 
window. 

The  ancient  old  machine  stood  on  the  sandy 
path  below,  still  quivering  with  the  speed  of  its 
return  trip  through  the  dunes.     Miss  Haldayne, 


116         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

her  face  an  iron  mask,  was  climbing  hastily  over 
the  side  of  the  car,  a  full  three  hours  before  she 
had  been  expected.  Just  before  she  disappeared 
beneath  the  out  jutting  floor  of  the  upper  veranda 
I  caught  a  glimpse  of  something  yellow  in  her 
hand  —  the  belated  telegram  to  which  the  stran- 
ger had  referred. 

Kegardless  of  the  questionable  example  I  was 
setting  the  children,  I  opened  the  school-room 
door  a  trifle  and  stood  listening.  I  heard  the 
front  door  open  and  close,  I  heard  —  or  thought 
I  did,  at  least  —  the  sibilant  syllables  of  Hoang's 
repressed  tones.  There  was  the  sudden  murmur 
of  three  voices,  which  was  as  suddenly  shut  off 
as  the  door  of  the  little  sitting-room  closed  be- 
hind Miss  Haldayne. 

Looking  back  upon  it  now,  it  seems  rather  as- 
tonishing how  little  difference  the  advent  of 
George  Rogers  Haldayne  made  in  the  daily  life 
of  Dune  House.  A  man  who  is  both  blind  and 
paralytic  naturally  cannot  take  an  active  part  in 
the  affairs  of  a  household.  Yet  there  was  at- 
tendant none  of  that  turmoil  which  usually  ac- 
companies the  care  of  an  invalid.  After  his 
startling  introduction  to  us  it  was  as  though  he 
did  not  exist.  He  was  assigned  a  bedroom  at  the 
end  of  the  hall,  the  end  in  which  was  the  mys- 
terious staircase.  From  Miss  Haldayne's  scant 
remarks   on  the   subject,   and   Miss   Drusilla's 


THE  PARALYTIC  MAN  117 

rambling  ones,  I  gained  the  impression  that  he 
was  sensitive  about  his  affliction;  that  he  pre- 
ferred taking  his  meals  in  his  own  room,  attended 
only  by  the  Filipino  servant,  who  appeared  de- 
voted to  him,  slipping  about  the  house  as  silently 
as  a  shadow  and  that  only  when  it  was  absolutely 
necessary.  George  Rogers  Haldayne  was  a  dead- 
alive  man,  craving  only  the  boon  of  being  left 
alone,  to  forget  and  be  forgotten  by  the  world 
which  had  maimed  him. 

From  Miss  Drusilla  I  learned  one  day,  while 
we  polished  the  silverware  together,  that  his 
pension  was  all  he  had  left  in  the  world  and  upon 
the  collapse  of  his  ambitions  and  dreams  he  had 
turned  to  the  only  relatives  he  possessed. 

Even  flabby  Miss  Drusilla  seemed  overcome  by 
genuine  feeling  as  she  unreeled  his  sad  history. 
Her  polishing-cloth  poised  over  an  old-fashioned 
pointed  spoon  which  had  surely  crossed  the  con- 
tinent in  a  prairie  schooner  or  braved  the  bliz- 
zards of  the  Horn,  her  faded  eyes  holding  a  far- 
off  look,  she  spoke: 

"  No  one  would  ever  have  thought  of  such  an 
end  for  George  Rogers  —  we  always  called  him 
that,  an  old  New  England  custom,  I  guess. 
There  ?s  always  been  a  George  Rogers  in  the  fam- 
ily, after  George  Rogers  Clark,  who  was  a  friend 
of  the  Revolutionary  Haldayne.  This  George 
Rogers's  father  was  George  Rogers  before  him  — 


118        WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

George  Rogers,  our  elder  brother.  Then  comes 
Eliza,  then  me;  then,  fifteen  years  younger  than 
me,  was  Florence,  Joan  and  Harry's  mother. 
Florence  was  the  youngest  of  the  family.  He 
stayed  with  us  one  summer  when  he  was  just  a 
boy,  and  he  took  a  great  fancy  to  Florence, 
though  of  course  she  was  older  than  he  was.  We 
only  saw  him  that  once,  for  he  went  to  Manila 
with  some  of  his  mother's  family  right  after. 
That  was  just  after  his  father  died.  He  was  in 
this  country  once  after  that.  Eliza  and  I  did  n't 
see  him,  but  he  went  to  see  Florence.  Joan  was 
a  little  thing  then  and  Harry  was  just  a  baby. 
He  was  over  here  on  business  and  he  went  right 
back  again.  He  says  he  was  doing  right  well  in 
Manila  when  the  war  broke  out.  He'd  served 
under  Pershing  in  the  islands,  so  when  Pershing 
was  made  commander-in-chief  he  enlisted  and 
went  to  France  —  in  the  aviation.  The  Ger- 
mans crippled  his  machine  one  day;  luckily  he 
was  over  his  own  lines,  so  he  was  n't  taken  pris- 
oner, but  the  fall  paralyzed  his  legs  and  the  shock 
affected  the  optic  nerve.  He  can  only  see  the 
slightest  haze,  that 's  why  he  wears  the  glasses, 
so  's  not  to  strain  his  eyes  by  daylight." 

"  Oh,  the  poor  fellow !  "  was  wrung  out  of  me. 

Miss  Drusilla  continued  with  the  morbid  satis- 
faction some  women  take  in  recounting  misfor* 
tune,  her  flabby  face  plastered  in  lines  of  direst 


THE  PARALYTIC  MAN  119 

woe,  her  head  nodding  solemnly  at  me  over  the 
jumble  of  silverware  on  the  red  table-cloth  be- 
tween us :  "  He  has  no  other  people  besides  us ; 
that  ?s  how  he  happened  to  come  here.  Got  our 
address  from  our  lawyer  in  San  Francisco. 
Eliza  never  got  the  telegram  until  too  late,  or 
she  ?d  'f  put  him  off  somehow,  but  when  he  came 
and  she  saw  him  helpless  like  a  baby  she  had  no 
other  choice.     Eliza  's  strong  on  doing  her  duty." 

This  last  caused  me  to  lift  my  head  sharply. 
What  might  have  been  a  compliment  was  uttered 
as  a  sneer  and  under  it  smoldered  some  long- 
buried  but  secretly  nourished  resentment. 

This  pitiful  story  of  his,  added  to  his  helpless- 
ness, quickened  my  sympathy  for  the  invalid. 
The  afternoon  following  my  conversation  with 
Miss  Drusilla  I  paused  by  the  opened  French 
window  upstairs  and  looked  out  on  the  ocean- 
side  veranda. 

It  was  the  children's  play-time.  They  had 
brought  their  toys,  Joan  lugging  June,  the  be- 
loved doll  as  large  as  herself,  and  had  ensconced 
themselves  in  a  sunny  angle  of  the  porch.  Here, 
too,  had  come  the  invalid,  his  blanketed  legs 
extended  helplessly  on  the  chair  before  him, 
trundled  there,  for  an  airing,  by  the  silent  Fili- 
pino. His  head  was  bare,  the  ocean  wind  stir- 
ring the  light-brown  hair.  There  was  something 
pathetic  about  that  blowing  hair  when  one  con- 


120        WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

trasted  it  with  the  still  limbs  and  disfiguring 
dark  glasses.  But  this  thought  did  not  occur 
until  later.  Now,  I  saw  with  a  little  glow  of 
satisfaction  that  he  was  deep  in  conversation 
with  Joan,  who  sat  demurely  in  a  small  rocker 
beside  him  while  his  thin  white  hand  stroked  the 
little  'girl's  silky  dark  hair.  Even  as  I  looked 
his  white  teeth  showed  at  some  quaint  expression 
of  hers  —  the  first  time  I  had  seen  him  smile 
since  his  mournful  advent  into  Dune  House. 

I  went  forward  with  some  half-formed  idea  of 
joining  them.  At  the  sound  of  my  footsteps  both 
conversationalists  turned  toward  me,  Joan's 
brown  eyes  glistening  with  delight,  the  black 
glasses  of  the  man  pathetically  strained  in  my 
direction. 

"  It 's  Miss  Belmont,  goody !  "  Joan  dropped 
the  doll  unceremoniously  on  its  back  and  skipped 
to  meet  me.  "  Cousin  George  is  telling  me  about 
the  Filipinos  and  about  the  funny  little  brown 
babies  and  the  bamboo  houses  built  up  on  poles. 
You  sit  down  and  listen,  Miss  Belmont,  it 's  aw- 
fully inter-res£ing."  , 

"  I  'd  love  to,"  I  was  saying  with  real  cordial- 
ity, when  I  was  checked  by  the  bleakness  which 
overspread  the  man's  unsmiling  mouth.  His 
voice  became  constrained,  his  head  turned 
slightly  from  me. 

u  I  'm  afraid  Miss  Belmont  would  n't  care  for 


THE  PARALYTIC  MAN  121 

my  line  of  talk,  Joan.  Those  things  just  interest 
you  and  me." 

"  Oh,  no !  "  I  took  his  constraint  for  embarrass- 
ment. "  I  'm  as  eager  as  Joan.  Please  go  on, 
Mr.  Haldayne.  I  '11  promise  to  be  a  most  appre- 
ciative audience." 

I  was  extending  the  palm-leaf  of  understand- 
ing sympathy,  and  extending  it,  I  flattered  my- 
self, in  a  sincere  and  inoffensive  manner,  but  I 
was  amazed  at  the  unmistakable  coldness  of  his 
reply.  His  face  was  averted  even  more,  the 
mouth  compressed  as  determinedly  as  Miss  Hal- 
dayne's  could  have  done. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  you  are  very  kind  " —  and 
oh  the  bleakness  of  the  words !  — "  but  I  'm  sure 
you'll  excuse  me  when  I  say  I  ?m  getting  tired. 
Talking  is  wearisome." 

There  was  a  quality  in  the  tone  which  I  could 
only  interpret  as  frank  dislike.  For  the  moment 
amazement  kept  me  sitting  in  the  chair  Joan  had 
placed  for  me,  ridiculously  cradling  the  big  doll 
in  my  lap.  I  was  at  a  loss  to  account  for  this 
treatment.  True,  I  was  no  bewildering  beauty ; 
men  had  never  risked  life  and  limb  to  gain  my 
favor  as  in  Miss  Drusilla's  ever-green  memories, 
but  neither  had  they  shown  the  unmistakable  re- 
pulsion I  read  into  the  reply  I  had  just  received 
from  this  blind  man.  I  could  generally  amuse 
and  interest  them;  like  Miss  Drusilla,  I  could 


122         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

remember  dances  where  I  was  no  wall-flower  — 
college  dances  just  passed  —  but  this  coldness 
—  it  was  really  an  insult. 

Smarting  with  hurt  pride,  I  arose  and  replaced 
the  big  doll  in  Joan's  arms.  "  Of  course  if  you 
are  weary  I  would  not  dream  of  insisting,  Mr. 
Haldayne,"  I  said  quietly,  relieved  to  find  that 
my  voice  did  not  quiver.  "  I  thought  that  you 
might  care  for  some  adult  company.  I  am 
sorry." 

I  moved  away,  fiercely  combating  a  feminine 
impulse  to  cry.  Not  until  I  was  stepping 
through  the  long  window  did  I  look  back. 

Over  the  top  of  the  high-backed  chair  I  could 
see  the  light-brown  hair  blowing;  Joan  was  once 
more  ensconced  in  her  little  rocker,  apparently 
deeply  immersed  in  the  continued  conversation. 

Even  had  I  been  less  deeply  hurt  at  this  return 
to  my  well-meant  advances,  the  manner  of  the 
paralytic  man  toward  me  would  have  kept  me  at 
my  distance.  To  his  aunts,  when  he  could 
not  avoid  speaking  to  them,  his  tone  held  a  cour- 
teous coolness.  To  me  his  behavior  plainly  in- 
dicated unconquerable  dislike.  Only  toward  the 
two  children  did  he  show  another  and  a  less 
austere  side.  Whenever  their  play-time  arrived 
his  chair  could  be  heard  rolling  along  the  hall  to 
the  sunny  side  veranda.  He  seemed  especially 
fond  of  Joan.     Her  dark  head  was  always  to  be 


THE  PARALYTIC  MAN  123 

found  near  his  lighter  one.  Their  conversations 
were  long  and  mysterious,  running  from  the  deep- 
est gravity,  when  Joan  appeared  to  do  most  of 
the  talking,  to  sheer  fun,  to  judge  from  the  little 
girl's  peals  of  treble  laughter,  which  came  to  my 
ears  while  I  sat  reading  or  sewing  in  my  own 
shadowy  room.  Indeed,  I  was  beginning  to  grow 
sensitive  about  my  little  satellite's  desertion 
when  something  happened  to  turn  the  channel  of 
my  thoughts. 

To  every  one's  unspoken  surprise,  Miss  Hal- 
dayne  failed  to  come  down  to  breakfast  one  morn- 
ing. She  had  a  headache,  Miss  Drusilla  was  in- 
formed curtly  through  the  closed  door  when  she 
wheezed  her  way  up  to  her  sister's  room  to  in- 
quire. Eliza  Haldayne  with  a  headache, —  or 
giving  in  to  one  if  that  phenomenon  had  actually 
occurred!  My  reason  rejected  the  idea  and  my 
thoughts  busied  themselves  throughout  breakfast 
to  such  effect  that  when  I  had  finally  pushed  my 
chair  from  the  table  and  followed  Joan  and 
Harry  from  the  room,  I  was  not  too  greatly  as- 
tonished to  see  my  employer  half  hidden  behind 
the  red  portieres  which  hung  before  the  arch  of 
the  shadowy  back  parlor.  As  she  saw  herself 
observed  her  fingers  were  laid  on  her  lips,  black 
eyes,  compelling,  resting  on  my  face. 

She  was  unseen,  either  by  the  children  skip- 
ping before  me  or  by  Miss  Drusilla  lumbering 


124         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

behind.  I  obeyed  the  unspoken  command  in  that 
stern  face  and,  calling  to  the  children,  I  sent 
them  scampering  to  the  school-room  by  them- 
selves. Miss  Drusilla  wheezed  her  way  down  the 
side  hall  to  the  broom-closet. 

I  stepped  behind  the  heavy  curtain. 

Miss  Haldayne  shut  and  locked  the  door  and 
pulled  the  curtain  over  the  keyhole  before  she 
faced  me.  Her  lips  were  compressed  rigidly, 
her  eyes  were  glassy  in  the  dim  light  which 
seeped  between  the  chinks  of  the  shutters. 

"  Ann," —  the  dead  calmness  of  her  voice  was 
more  nerve-racking  than  sheer  panic  would  have 
been  — "  this  morning  I  found  another  of  those 
notes." 


CHAPTER  IX 

ANN   PUTS  HER  TRUST  IN   FLOUR 

JUST  why  memory  paints  the  back  parlor  at 
Dune  House  in  such  hateful  shades  I  have 
often  wondered.  Nothing  ever  happened  there, 
— -nothing,  that  is,  more  than  happened  in  the 
other  rooms  of  the  rambling  great  house.  The 
same  subtle  menace  overhung  them  all;  yet, 
oddly  enough,  this  one  close-shuttered  room  in- 
curred my  remembered  dislike  more  than  any. 
There  was  something  about  its  high-ceiled  gloom, 
about  the  sepulchral  hush  which  seemed  to  brood 
in  its  musty  hangings,  in  the  protruding  knobs 
of  the  ugly  walnut  furniture  thrusting  them- 
selves out  of  the  shadows;  something  about  the 
unpleasant  high  lights  on  the  glass  covering 
crayons  of  dead-and-gone  people,  which  was  in- 
describably dreary. 

Here  the  unwholesome  spirit  of  the  place  be- 
came a  very  tangible  presence.  I  felt  my  nerves 
recoil  from  its  black  threat;  felt  upon  me  eyes 
which  I  could  not  see ;  felt  my  courage  grow  faint 
with  the  chill  of  its  being  as  I  took  the  slip  of 

125 


126         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

paper  from  Eliza  Haldayne's  unsteady  extended 
hand. 

The  sprawling,  uneven  writing  was  shockingly 
familiar;  more  picturesquely  cryptic  than  be- 
fore: 

So  surely  as  the  sun  rises,  so  surely  will  They  come. 
Was  the  Pack  of  The  Yellow  Wolf  ever  known  to  tire? 

I  handled  the  paper  with  a  repugnance  I  could 
barely  conceal  and  remained  silent. 

Miss  Haldayne  continued  in  that  visibly  main- 
tained calm :  "  It  was  there  when  I  got  up  this 
morning.  My  desk  was  open  —  this  lying  in  the 
center.  My  own  paper  and  pen  had  been  used 
to  write  it,  even  though  I  'd  put  the  pen  in  a 
place  I  never  keep  it.  Ann,  my  door  was  locked 
when  I  went  to  bed  last  night ;  it  was  locked  this 
morning  when  I  got  up.  Ann,  how  do  they  get 
in?" 

The  poignant  cry  sent  another  shiver  of  fear 
through  me.  All  of  the  old  ghost-stories,  all  of 
the  too-highly  seasoned  literature  with  which  I 
had  tortured  an  alert  imagination  during  child- 
hood, trooped  back  on  my  paralyzed  reason. 
Limp  apparitions  through  which  the  hand  passed 
when  it  sought  to  grasp  them ;  clammy  specters 
with  an  unattractive  habit  of  carrying  their 
heads  in  their  extended  hands;  white  maidens 
unpleasantly  allowing  the  background  to  be  seen 


ANN  PUTS  HEE  TEUST  IN  FLOUE      127 

through  their  misty  figures,  filed  in  gruesome 
procession  before  me.  What,  in  Heaven's  name, 
was  it  that  could  pass  through  locked  doors  and 
barred  windows  to  leave  this  eerie  trail  behind 
it?  For  the  moment  intelligence  was  cowed  be- 
neath the  race-old  dread  of  the  supernatural; 
then  that  lately  acquired  skepticism  struggled 
toward  daylight. 

"Miss  Haldayne," — I  spoke  impatiently, — 
"  how  am  I  to  help  you  if  I  am  left  in  the  dark 
like  this?  Tell  me  of  what  you  're  afraid,  whom 
you  suspect.  Then  we  can  put  our  heads  to- 
gether and  make  some  progress.  This  way  I  'm 
left  utterly  at  sea." 

For  the  moment  she  seemed  torn  by  some  in- 
ward struggle,  her  fierce  black  eyes  staring  at 
the  end  of  the  room  where  the  sun  had  thrust 
one  golden  sliver  through  the  shutters  to  tremble 
on  the  faded  stuffed  back  of  a  chair.  Her  mouth 
was  grim,  but  the  usually  quiet  fingers  were  nerv- 
ously folding  her  percale  skirt  into  innumerable 
little  pleats,  the  only  sign  of  the  tumult  raging 
beneath  her  calm.  Finally  she  spoke  in  a  tight 
voice. 

"  Nothing  to  tell,"  she  brought  out  stubbornly. 
"  I  could  n't  figure  it  out  myself,  that 's  all.  / 
don't  know  what  the  thing  means," — her  eyes 
shifted  here,  then  came  back  to  rest  too  defiantly 
on  my  face.     "  I  can't  understand  how  any  — 


128         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

how  any  one  could  get  into  my  room  when  I  'd 
locked  the  door;  how  they  could  find  my  pen 
when  I  'd  hidden  it,  and  write  this  without  wak- 
ing me.  I  'm  a  light  sleeper,  especially  lately. 
The  thing's  beyond  me.  I  told  you  because  I 
just  had  to  tell  somebody.  It's  a  fool  trick;  I 
knew  you  could  n't  help,  but  —  I  just  had  to  tell 
somebody ! " 

She  wheeled  abruptly  and  left,  her  starched 
skirts  rattling  down  the  long  hall,  the  high  win- 
dow at  the  end  framing  her  ever-diminishing  sil- 
houette in  a  border  of  white  light. 

I  stood  motionless  for  the  moment  in  the  back 
parlor,  too  astonished  to  move.  I  was  not  ac- 
customed to  thinking  of  Miss  Haldayne  in  fem- 
inine terms,  but  that  betraying  weakness  of  fem- 
ininity, whether  it  comes  from  blond  curls  and 
organdie,  or,  as  in  this  case,  from  gray  hair  and 
percale, —  this  indiscreet  indulgence  in  revealing 
a  secret  for  the  mere  relief  of  sharing  it, —  struck 
a  fountain  of  sympathy  in  me. 

I  returned  to  the  school-room  in  a  daze.  Of 
the  cryptic  wording  of  the  note  I  could  make 
little  sense,  but  it  had  a  bizarre  form,  an  embroid- 
ery of  language  which  pointed  to  the  Oriental  — 
which  pointed  to  the  figure  I  disliked  and  dis- 
trusted most  in  this  strange  household.  It  could 
be  no  one  but  Hoang  who  had  access  to  the  keys 
of  the  house,  who  could  prowl  at  his  ease  when 


ANN  PUTS  HER  TRUST  IN  FLOUR     129 

the  place  was  wrapped  in  darkness, —  Hoang, 
who  could  move  so  silently  in  his  felt  slippers 
that  one  was  not  aware  he  was  behind  one 
until  the  startled  nerves  jumped.  Miss  Hal- 
dayne's  stubborn  refusal  to  accept  this  obvi- 
ous solution  filled  me  with  impatience.  Very 
well,  I  told  the  tight-lipped  girl  in  the  mirror  as 
I  tidied  the  top  of  my  dresser,  if  Hoang  could 
prowl  through  the  sleeping  house  at  night,  so 
could  I.  I  too  would  borrow  the  weapons  of 
stealth.  I  nerved  myself  to  this  by  an  unusual 
severity  of  manner,  a  severity  which  caused  the 
two  children  to  eye  me  with  unspoken  astonish- 
ment, their  little  hearts  feeling  that  something 
was  wrong  which  their  little  tongues  could  not 
express.  For  the  first  time  I  caused  Joan  tears 
when  I  discovered  her  rather  unbeautifully  chew- 
ing gum  —  obtained  the  good  Lord  alone  knows 
where.  At  any  other  time  the  frightened  aston- 
ishment of  those  dark  eyes  would  have  shamed 
me  into  mildness;  now,  however,  I  assumed  the 
air  of  an  offended  goddess  and  gingerly  holding 
the  confiscated  package  between  thumb  and  fore- 
finger I  dropped  it  into  the  waste-basket  in  my 
own  room.  How  are  the  mighty  fallen !  I  could 
not  foresee  the  use  I  was  to  make  of  that  offend- 
ing gum  a  few  short  hours  from  then. 

In  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  when  Joan's 
distant  treble  proclaimed  her  whereabouts  as 


130         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

well  as  that  of  Harry  and  the  paralytic  man  to 
be  on  the  ocean  veranda ;  when  I  had  heard  Miss 
Drusilla  wheeze  up  to  her  diurnal  siesta  and  Miss 
Haldayne,  I  knew,  was  cleaning  out  the  preserve- 
closet  with  Hoang's  assistance,  I  slipped  into  the 
Chinaman's  room  through  the  door,  half-opened 
to  give  free  draft  to  the  ocean  breeze.  It  might 
have  been  the  room  of  an  ascetic.  A  small  wThite 
iron  cot,  two  prim  chairs,  a  "  Rock  of  Ages  "  in 
a  deep  frame  made  of  putty  and  sea-shells, — 
surely  that  had  begun  its  life  in  some  New 
England  seaside  village, —  and,  what  I  was  look- 
ing for,  a  Bible,  its  black  leather  cover  worn 
brown  from  much  handling,  lying  in  state  on 
the  small  marble-topped  table. 

I  lifted  the  limp  black  cover.  I  was  not  dis- 
appointed. There  were  several  texts,  favorites 
apparently,  copied  in  a  neat  copperplate  hand  on 
the  yellowed  fly-leaf.  I  compared  them  with  the 
note  I  had  retained.  I  had  not  expected  to  find 
a  marked  similarity  between  the  two,  but  the 
lack  of  any  likeness  in  the  handwritings  left  me 
more  puzzled  than  before.  I  silently  replaced 
the  book  and  returned  to  my  own  room. 

That  night  I  blew  out  my  center  hanging- 
lamp  at  the  usual  hour  for  retiring  and  sat 
quietly  in  the  dark,  fully  clothed,  waiting. 

It  is  an  awesome  thing  to  listen  to  a  house 
settling  down  for  the  night.    I  heard  Miss  Dru- 


ANN  PUTS  HER  TRUST  IN  FLOUR     131 

silla,  Miss  Haldayne,  Hoang,  go  to  their  rooms 
in  turn.  Now  it  seemed  that  the  old  building 
was  turning  in,  and  doing  so  with  a  variety  of 
grunts  and  creaks,  of  ghostly  sighs  and  stealthy 
steps  of  which  I  had  not  been  cognizant  by  day. 
Was  it  a  troubled  conscience  which  was  hurting 
the  old  place  and  causing  its  nocturnal  grum- 
bles? I  heard  ghostly  doors  open  and  slyly  shut 
where  doors  had  never  been ;  a  hall  stair  squeaked 
as  though  under  an  unseen  foot,  though  I  was 
certain  that  nothing  had  passed  my  door  to  go 
down  it.  There  was  but  little  breeze  to-night 
and  what  there  was  blew  from  the  land.  The 
sound  of  the  ocean  was  very  far  away,  like  the 
muffled  roaring  inside  a  sea-shell;  the  darkness 
was  rich  and  brooding.  A  hollow  boom  sounded 
from  the  dark  cavern  of  downstairs.  I  was  in- 
stantly all  nerves,  but  it  was  followed  by  another 
and  still  others;  the  tall  grandfather's  clock  in 
the  living-room  was  striking  eleven.  At  the 
cessation  of  the  solemn  strokes  the  silence  ap- 
peared to  surge  in  again.  I  heard  spectral  clocks 
ticking  and  abruptly  stop.  A  board  snapped  in 
the  hall  outside  and  I  jumped.  The  next  mo- 
ment I  took  myself  severely  in  hand,  and,  breath 
suspended,  stealthily  opened  the  door  and  crept 
into  the  dark  passage. 

The  myriad  little  lamps  which  blossomed  exot- 
ically  on  their  myriad  little  shelves  were  blown 


132         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

out, —  Hoang's  last  duty  before  he  retired, —  but 
their  coal-oil  ghosts  still  lingered.  The  stair- 
way was  a  gaping  void  which  led  downward  to 
stygian  depths,  but  I  had  my  teeth  set  hard  on 
my  courage  by  now.  The  stairs  creaked  abom- 
inably as  I  gave  them  my  weight.  My  heart  was 
pounding  my  ribs  with  sledge-hammer  blows 
when  I  finally  gained  the  lower  hall  and  stood, 
one  foot  still  lingering  on  the  unseen  stairs,  one 
hand  gripped  about  the  smooth,  worn  banister. 

Still  only  the  mysterious  snaps  and  creaks 
which,  reason  hysterically  assured  me,  was 
merely  contraction  in  the  old  boards  after 
the  heat  of  the  day.  Above-stairs  all  seemed 
sleeping. 

I  groped  my  way  silently  down  the  long  hall, 
past  the  dismal  back  parlor,  past  the  more  cheer- 
ful sitting-room  where  a  weak,  watery  moon,  just 
broken  through  the  fog,  glanced  slyly  in  through 
the  wire-meshed  window  to  peek  at  me  as  I  slid 
by  the  half-opened  door. 

What  subtle  change  is  it  that  a  great  house 
undergoes  at  night?  Familiar  things  are  in- 
describably altered;  it  is  as  though  well-known 
features  were  lit  with  a  strange  expression.  Not 
that  it  is  lonely, —  it  is  not  here  that  the  threat 
lies, —  rather  it  is  from  the  lack  of  aloneness 
that  our  nerves  shrink,  from  some  too-vital  pres- 
ence just  hidden  from  our  eyes,  as  though  dark- 


ANN  PUTS  HER  TRUST  IN  FLOUR      133 

ness  embodied  the  mean,  harmful  thoughts  of  the 
daytime  and  gave  them  the  right  to  move  about 
the  place  of  their  birth.  This  fancy  was  preg- 
nant with  horrid  possibilities.  The  shadows 
took  on  substance;  they  became  something  less 
than  human,  more  than  ether.  They  seemed  to 
brush  me  as  I  slipped  through  them  like  the  dis- 
gusting cobwebs  in  my  nightmare  on  the  night  of 
the  death-howl.  An  old  childish  fear  of  the  dark 
was  uncovered  in  my  mind.  I  remembered  the 
times  when,  afraid  to  admit  the  weakness  to 
adults,  I  would  bellow  hymns  at  the  top  of  my 
frightened  lungs  if  it  became  necessary  to  go 
into  a  dark  room,  like  a  little  pagan  putting  my 
trust  in  signs  and  spells.  The  memory  was  a 
godsend  now;  it  fanned  to  life  my  flickering 
sense  of  humor  and  strengthened  my  shaking 
knees.  Ridicule,  even  when  self-administered,  is 
an  effective  stimulant. 

So  through  what  seemed  endless  years  of  grop- 
ing I  came  to  the  kitchen  at  the  extreme  end  of 
the  passage.  Up  to  now  I  had  been  moving  in 
a  strange  world,  dependent  upon  touch  and  hear- 
ing,—  senses  used  at  but  half  their  power  in 
these  degenerate  days.  Now  the  king  of  the  fac- 
ulties, Sight,  leaped  to  command  with  the  open- 
ing of  the  door  to  the  moon-flooded  kitchen,  and 
instantly  my  world  spun  in  its  accustomed  orbit 
again. 


134        WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

The  moon  was  near  its  zenith  as  I  slipped  into 
the  deserted  room  and  noiselessly  closed  the  door 
behind  me.  It  imprinted  the  great  white  square 
of  the  window,  mesh-covered,  on  the  floor.  It 
cast  precise  black  shadows  of  the  pots  and  pans 
hanging  in  prim  rows  about  the  wainscoting 
and  showed  the  squatting  great  coal-stove  in  the 
corner  like  some  clumsy  quadruped,  crouched  to 
spring. 

My  movements  were  less  fearful  as  I  crossed 
swiftly  to  the  dish-closet.  I  found  what  I 
wanted  instantly,  a  shallow  china  dish.  There 
was  a  slight  protesting  squeak  from  the  flour- 
bin  when  I  opened  it  —  was  there  ever  a  flour- 
bin  that  would  n't  squeak !  —  then  I  had  scooped 
up  a  dishful  of  flour,  closed  the  bin,  and  was  on 
the  return  journey,  noiselessly  releasing  the 
knob  of  the  kitchen  door  after  me.  Exultation 
at  successfully  accomplishing  half  of  my  mission 
had  banished  the  childish  fear  by  now.  All  day 
I  had  been  haunting  the  hall,  awaiting  my  chance 
to  slip  into  the  kitchen  and  get  this  flour,  and 
all  day  Hoang  had  unknowingly  prevented  me. 
In  the  dark  I  felt  my  face  taking  on  what  a 
room-mate  had  once  called  my  "  Scotch  expres- 
sion.- '  I  was  grimly  resolved  to  make  some  head- 
way in  the  maddening  mystery  which  was  cling- 
ing to  the  old  house,  and  of  which  Miss  Haldayne 
had  so  stubbornly  refused  to  speak.    A  little 


ANN  PUTS  HEE  TRUST  IN  FLOUR      135 

flour  sprinkled  before  her  door,  where  in  the 
blackness  an  unsuspecting  foot  must  step  into  it, 
and  much  would  be  clear  that  was  now  too  tanta- 
lizingly  vague.  Unless  the  writer  of  those  mys- 
terious notes  could  fly,  some  record  of  his  passing 
would  be  written  in  the  trap.  If  no  visit  was  to 
be  made  to  Miss  Haldayne  to-night  (I  grimly 
tightened  my  lips  here),  I  should  continue  to 
sprinkle  flour  and  keep  it  up  until  some  evidence 
was  obtained.  If  she  were  confronted  by  the  flat 
imprint  of  Hoang's  felt  slipper,  Miss  Haldayne's 
stubborn  belief  was  bound  to  be  broken  down. 

All  this  time  I  was  silently  stealing  along  the 
dark  lower  hall  once  more,  past  the  empty  rooms, 
their  doors  yawning  like  the  mouths  of  so  many 
caves.  From  the  little  sitting-room  came  a  hol- 
low boom  which  threatened  the  flour-dish  in  my 
hand  and  turned  me  weak  for  the  moment,  until 
reason  recognized  it  as  the  grandfather  clock 
striking  eleven-thirty. 

I  found  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  cautiously 
ran  one  hand  along  the  banister,  testing  each 
step  tentatively  before  I  mounted.  I  had  made 
seven  of  them  in  dead  silence  when  something  — 
that  sixth  sense,  perhaps,  which  scientists  can- 
not classify  —  stopped  me,  frozen  in  the  act  of 
stepping  up. 

I  have  marveled  at  this  since;  certainly  my 
physical  ears  had  heard  nothing,  nor  had  my 


136         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

strained  eyes  seen,  yet  I  stopped  as  a  horse  will 
stop  on  an  apparently  empty  road  when  danger 
lurks  in  the  bend  ahead. 

Then  it  came;  the  sound  I  had  heard  before 
it  came;  a  protesting  creak  from  the  blackness 
above  me,  a  creak  that  grows  only  from  a  heavy 
weight.  The  meaning  burst  on  my  brain  like  a 
blinding  light  and  I  staggered  mentally.  Some 
one  was  standing  on  the  stairs  ahead,  blocking 
my  way. 

After  the  first  numb  chill  this  brought,  circula- 
tion surged  through  me  again;  without  facing 
about  I  promptly  stepped  back,  noiselessly  feel- 
ing for  the  stair  below  with  my  stockinged  foot. 
There  was  no  very  definite  thought  in  my  head; 
one  does  not  think  at  such  a  time,  I  've  found  out. 
I  acted  instinctively,  choosing  the  only  way  out 
which  was  open  to  me. 

Four  —  three  —  two,  I  backed,  frantic  at  the 
need  for  silence  which  forbade  more  haste.  My 
face  was  glued  fearfully  to  the  area  of  blackness 
out  of  which  another  muffled  squeak  had  come  as 
the  heavy  weight  was  shifted  down  a  step. 

The  moon  was  coming  about  the  corner  of  the 
house;  the  high  narrow  window  in  the  bend  of 
the  stairs  was  growing  gray;  in  another  minute 
it  would  silhouette  the  stealthy  figure.  Perhaps 
Hoang  had  heard  me  moving  about  the  kitchen 
and  had  come  down  to  investigate.     I  was,  in  a 


ANN  PUTS  HEE  TRUST  IN  FLOUR     137 

way,  to  have  my  curiosity  satisfied  with  disquiet- 
ing promptness. 

My  backing  foot  felt  frantically  for  the  floor, 
found  it,  and  I  lowered  myself  to  the  hall  as  the 
black  silhouette  of  a  groping  hand  stole  across 
the  graying  window-pane. 

I  did  not  flee,  I  could  not.  I  was  rooted  to 
the  spot  by  terrified  curiosity.  My  heart  was 
chill,  my  tongue  cleaved  dryly  to  the  roof  of  my 
mouth,  my  eyes  fastened  on  that  growing  hand. 

The  window  was  being  slowly  eclipsed  now, 
the  arm  to  the  elbow  —  to  the  shoulder  —  then 
the  head,  came  to  view,  bordered  in  gray  light 
from  the  moon-flooded  dunes  outside. 

The  terror  I  had  known  before  was  nothing  to 
this  that  overwhelmed  me  now ;  the  horror  I  had 
known  was  a  mere  pin-prick  to  the  sharp  fright 
that  pierced  my  heart.  I  did  not  scream  merely 
because  I  could  not;  only  my  stiffened  fingers 
gripped  over  the  edge  saved  the  flour-dish  from 
crashing  to  the  floor  in  the  dark.  The  figure  sil- 
houetted there  against  the  narrow  window  was 
not  the  figure  of  Hoang;  it  was  the  paralytic 
man  —  and  walking! 


CHAPTER  X 

MIDNIGHT  PROWLERS 

AS  the  figure  passed  the  gray  square  and  the 
window  became  unblemished  again,  the 
apathy  of  fear  which  had  held  me  gave  way  to 
terrified  energy.  One  hand  outstretched  ahead 
of  me,  to  save  my  eyes  from  unexpected  door- 
jambs,  I  flew  before  it  down  the  dark  hall,  my 
stockinged  feet  making  no  noise,  luckily,  though 
silence  was  now  secondary  to  the  blind  need  for 
haste. 

Why  I  did  not  slip  into  one  of  the  opened 
side  rooms  —  the  front  parlor  or  the  sitting- 
room,  whose  yawning  door  invited  —  I  have  since 
asked  myself.  The  mind  can  hold  but  one  object 
in  time  of  panic,  one  image  of  safety  on  which 
the  mental  shutter  refuses  to  close.  Now  my 
mind  was  focussed  on  one  lone  place  of  refuge, 
the  kitchen  I  had  just  quitted,  where  the  moon 
took  away  the  threat  the  darkness  held.  I 
fumbled  the  knob  and  it  rattled ;  the  door  clicked 
ever  so  slightly  as  I  closed  it.  I  slumped  on  the 
floor,  between  the  wall  and  the  stove,  my  heart 

138 


MIDNIGHT  PROWLERS  139 

rocking  me  with  its  mighty  thumps.  I  did  not 
faint, —  I  am  not  the  fainting  kind, —  but  my 
knees  had  turned  to  water  and  refused  to  sup- 
port me  longer.  Not  even  when  I  heard  the 
kitchen  door  slowly  open  and  saw  a  dark  figure 
slip  through  did  I  faint,  though  my  heart  must 
surely  have  been  heard  by  the  intruder  and  my 
eyes  ached  with  the  intensity  of  my  stare. 

I  was  out  of  sight  there  in  the  shadows  down 
by  the  stove,  but  the  darkness  was  suddenly 
cleft  by  a  thin  shaft  of  white  light  and  the  elec- 
tric torch  found  my  huddled  form  and  splashed 
across  my  face. 

That  broke  the  spell  which  held  me.  The 
flour-dish  tilted  and  its  contents  cascaded  down 
my  skirt.  As  though  he  read  the  impulse  in  my 
face,  the  light  suddenly  winked  out  and  the  man 
had  swooped  and  grasped  me  painfully  by  the 
throat. 

"  Don't  scream,  I  won't  hurt  you !  "  It  was  a 
fierce  whisper;  then,  more  calmly,  as  I  proved 
my  total  inability  to  do  anything  like  screaming : 
"  If  I  let  you  go,  will  you  promise  to  be  quiet? 
I  give  my  word  I  '11  not  hurt  you.     Promise?  " 

I  wagged  my  head  feebly,  the  only  thing  I 
could  do,  and  he  released  me  slowly,  ready  to 
throttle  me  again  at  the  first  indication  of  break- 
ing my  word.  For  the  moment  I  could  only 
swallow  to  relieve  my  outraged  windpipe,  then 


140         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

I  recovered  the  half -emptied  dish,  the  flour  trick- 
ling to  the  floor  in  a  little  white  waterfall  as  I 
did  so. 

Much  of  my  terror  was  gone  now.  Here  was 
treachery  instead  of  mystery.  The  paralytic 
blind  man,  who  was  neither  paralyzed  nor  blind 
(the  eyes  hidden  behind  the  smoked  glasses  were 
handsome  hazel  ones,  bright  as  Joan's  own),  re- 
garded me  sternly. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  slipping  about  the 
house  at  this  hour  of  the  night?  "  he  demanded 
in  a  stern  whisper. 

It  was  an  excellent  bracer.  My  backbone 
straightened  and  my  cold  face  suddenly  tingled. 
"  What  do  you  mean,"  I  whispered  hotly  back, 
"  by  imposing  on  all  of  us !  —  by  pretending  to  be 
paralyzed  when  you  can  snoop  about  the  place 
after  we  've  all  gone  to  bed !  —  pretending  to  be 
blind  when  you  can  see  in  the  dark  — !  " 

I  choked  and  he  shook  his  head  warningly  in 
the  moonlight. 

"  Not  so  loud ;  they  '11  hear  upstairs,"  he  whis- 
pered. "  Look  here,  it 's  cards  on  the  table  for 
both  of  us.  You  're  the  last  person  I  expected  to 
run  into.  Do  you  mind  explaining?  Why  the 
flour?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  I  returned  in  a  cool  whisper, 
though  my  heart  was  pounding,  "  if  you  '11  first 
explain  why  the  walk?  " 


MIDNIGHT  PROWLERS  141 

He  laughed  silently.  I  could  see  the  hazel 
eyes  twinkling  in  the  moonlight  and  I  was  aware 
of  a  secret  gladness,  even  under  my  fright,  that 
they  could  twinkle  like  that  instead  of  being  for- 
ever darkened  behind  disfiguring  glasses. 

"  I  asked  first.  My  explanation  is  long. 
Politeness  requires — " 

"Oh,  all  right."  I  tried  to  be  calm.  "A 
mustard-plaster.  I  have  a  touch  of  pleurisy  and 
I  did  n't  think  it  necessary  to  wake  the  whole 
house  over  it." 

He  looked  at  the  flour  still  left  in  the  dish,  at 
the  white  Niagara  which  had  left  its  trace  on  my 
skirt. 

"  That  would  make  a  mustard-plaster  for  an 
elephant, —  one  learns  such  things  on  the  western 
front.  However,  a  mustard-plaster  goes  with 
me.  It 's  a  poor  time  to  make  a  long  explana- 
tion, but  I  '11  be  as  brief  as  possible.  There  's 
no  one  over  us,  that 's  a  blessing.  My  room  's 
above  here ;  that  's  how  I  happened  to  hear  you. 
I  don't  believe  there  's  another  soul  awake  in  the 
place." 

He  paused  and  we  both  listened  intently  for  a 
moment,  heads  slightly  on  one  side,  ears  strained 
to  catch  the  faintest  noise.  The  silence  almost 
rang  in  its  intensity.  Then,  in  a  whisper  which 
certainly  did  not  penetrate  beyond  the  closed 
kitchen,  the  man  spoke. 


142        WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

"  There 's  only  one  way  to  tell  this  so  you  '11 
see  it  in  its  real  colors;  that's  from  the  begin- 
ning, and  the  beginning  is  Florence  —  Joan  and 
Harry's  mother.  I  first  saw  Florence  when  I 
was  a  boy  of  thirteen.  She  was  eighteen  then 
and  one  of  the  most  charming  things  God  ever 
made."  He  gave  a  short,  noiseless  laugh.  "  I 
must  have  been  an  odd  sort  of  little  tad.  You 
see,  my  father  had  always  lived  abroad  with  me 
after  my  mother's  death.  Florence  was  my  aunt 
—  it  seems  strange  to  think  of  her  in  that  rela- 
tionship. All  the  adoration  of  a  rather  romantic 
boy  with  old-world  standards  was  lavished  on 
her.  Don't  laugh,  Miss  Belmont,"  I  had  shown 
no  intention  of  so  doing.  "  It  was  calf  love,  I 
know,  or  is  it  so  calf -like,  that  first  pure,  wor- 
shipful adoration  a  very  young  boy  feels  for  a 
pretty  woman  who  has  been  kind  to  him,  a  woman 
who  is  a  star  to  his  lofty  fancy  ?  Why  don't  they 
call  it  knight  love?  That  was  the  way  I  adored 
Florence."  He  stopped  and  listened  intently. 
I  too  strained  my  ears  to  the  silence.  Then  in  a 
moment  he  spoke  again  in  the  same  guarded 
whisper. 

"  I  think  Florence  knew  it,  her  manner  was  so 
sweetly  sympathetic.  I  left  before  that  ideal 
could  be  dissipated.  My  father  died  over  there 
in  Europe  and  I  went  to  Manila,  to  my  mother's 
people.     I  'm  making  this  short,  so  I  '11  come 


MIDNIGHT  PROWLERS  143 

back  again  to  Florence.  The  next  time  I  saw 
her,  I  was  in  my  twenties.  I  had  seen  more  of 
the  world  by  then  and  in  my  mind  was  a  little 
superior  pity  for  the  callow  youth  I  had  been. 
I  called  for  old  times'  sake.  It  was  one  of  those 
fortunate  calls;  the  beginning  of  a  swift  and 
strong  friendship,  a  friendship  I  still  feel  though 
I  'm  the  only  one  left  now.  She  was  married ;  I 
saw  the  two  youngsters  then  —  Harry  was  only  a 
baby.  Rather  to  my  surprise  —  life  makes  us  so 
skeptical !  —  she  was  even  more  charming  in  her 
maturity  than  she  had  remained  in  my  boyish 
fancy."  He  suddenly  broke  off  and  looked  at  me 
intently. 

"  Odd,  our  standing  here  calmly,  like  this,  as 
though  we  were  not  the  only  ones  awake  in  this 
great  house.  I  ?ve  always  thought  such  scenes, 
long  explanations  like  this,  were  overdrawn  in 
fiction ;  yet  it  seems  quite  natural  now." 

The  same  thought  had  occurred  to  me,  but  I 
only  nodded  impatiently.     My  nerves  had  been 
shattered  that  night,  but  I  was  determined  to* 
let  no  explanations  be  postponed,  now  that  I  was 
holding  one  thread  to  the  mystery. 

He  correctly  interpreted  my  gesture  and  pro- 
ceeded. "  I  like  to  think  now  what  a  clear,  true 
friendship  that  short  visit  created  between  Flor- 
ence, between  Harry  her  husband  and  me.  I 
was  a  trusted  younger  brother  to  them  —  the 


144         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

truest  friends  I  have  ever  had  in  my  life.  Well, 
I  'm  going  into  this  detail  so  you  '11  understand 
why  I  acted  as  I  did. 

"  They  were  flung  from  a  machine,  after  I  had 
returned  to  Manila;  Harry  was  instantly  killed. 
Florence  lingered  some  weeks.  And  she  wrote 
me  a  letter. 

"  Mail  was  slow  in  getting  to  the  Philippines. 
The  war  in  Europe  had  embroiled  us  then. 
When  that  letter  reached  Manila  I  was  in 
France.  It  was  forwarded  there.  Florence  had 
been  dead  eight  months  when  I  learned  of  it.  It 
was  not  a  long  letter.  Sweet  and  straightfor- 
ward, like  Florence  herself.  She  had  known 
that  she  would  not  recover  and  her  care  was  for 
her  children.  Their  only  other  relatives  were 
her  own  sisters,  Eliza  and  Drusilla.  Florence 
did  not  state  why, —  she  was  always  slow  to  re- 
flect unfavorably  on  any  one, —  but  I  could  read 
her  terror  of  the  children  going  to  live  with  them. 
I  read  a  fear  into  that  letter,  a  fear  lying  be- 
tween the  lines  as  though  Florence  herself  were 
not  sure  what  she  dreaded,  for  it  certainly  was 
not  there  when  the  eye  alone  scanned  the  words. 
She  wanted  me  to  have  the  children,  to  put  them 
in  a  school  if  necessary,  but  not  to  let  them  re- 
main under  the  same  roof  with  the  aunts.  Evi- 
dently she  anticipated  no  trouble  in  this.     There 


MIDNIGHT  PROWLERS  145 

was  nothing  mentioned  in  her  will  and  Harry 
had  made  none.  My  only  claim  to  the  children 
was  that  given  me  by  the  mother's  letter  and  — 
one  of  war's  little  ironies,  Miss  Belmont ;  the  bar- 
racks are  poor  safeguards  for  valuables  —  that 
letter  was  lost.  Destroyed,  no  doubt,  as  rubbish 
when  I  was  wounded." 

Once  again  he  paused  and  we  listened  to  the 
ringing  silence  which  filled  the  house.  He  had 
spoken  rapidly  but  with  all  caution.  I  touched 
his  sleeve  as  a  signal  to  resume  the  story. 

"  It  was  being  wounded  which  first  suggested 
this  masquerade  to  my  mind.  A  fall  from  an 
aeroplane  resulted  in  temporary  paralysis  and  a 
severe  shock  to  tile  optic  nerve.  During  the  long 
warm  afternoons  while  I  lay  in  that  French  hos- 
pital, listening  to  the  distant  exploding  of  bombs, 
I  planned  future  action.  I  never  for  a  moment 
doubted  I  should  get  well ;  all  the  doctors  assured 
me  of  that.  When  I  was  permitted  I  determined 
to  come  to  this  coast  and  get  possession  of  the 
children,  to  take  them  back  to  Manila  with  me  if 
necessary. 

"  That  vague  fear  in  Florence's  letter  had  me 
worried.  I  recalled  my  Aunt  Eliza  as  a  tall, 
dark,  austere  woman,  nothing  at  all  like  sweet 
Florence,  or  the  frivolous  beauty  of  the  family, 
Drusilla.     I  sensed  a  poignant  appeal  in  the  let- 


146         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

ter  and  connected  it  with  Aunt  Eliza.  But 
there  was  nothing  definite,  no  fact  on  which  to 
hang  a  theory." 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  while  his  anxious 
hazel  eyes  seemed  studying  my  face  through  the 
semi-gloom.  The  moon  sailed  behind  a  cloud, 
but  I  could  feel  the  intent  gaze  still  upon  me. 
His  voice  came  out  of  the  darkness  in  a  vibrant 
whisper : 

"  When  I  came  to  San  Francisco  I  found  the 
same  morass  of  vagueness  surrounding  me. 
Only  two  elderly  sisters  remained  of  the  once 
numerous  Haldaynes, —  two  spinsters  living 
down  here  in  a  moldy  house  among  desolate  sand- 
dunes.  Not  until  I  had  proved  myself  beyond 
all  doubt  as  being  a  blood  relation  was  I  able  to 
wring  this  much  from  the  family  lawyer,  a  dusty 
little  man  in  a  monk's  cell  of  an  office.  The  mad- 
dening air  of  mystery,  the  exasperating  caution 
which  shrouded  each  point  made  me  pause.  My 
one  legal  claim  to  the  children  —  Florence's  let- 
ter —  was  lost.  If  for  some  hidden  reason  of  her 
own  Aunt  Eliza  wished  to  put  up  a  fight  for  their 
guardianship,  I  was  beaten  before  I  began.  I 
determined  to  fight  fire  with  fire, —  to  discover 
how  the  land  lay  and  learn  what  that  vague  ter- 
ror could  be  that  I  sensed  in  Florence's  letter. 

"  My  recent  accident  suggested  a  way  to  do 
this.     My  Filipino  *  boy '  was  the  one  human  I 


MIDNIGHT  PROWLERS  147 

trusted  to  help  me  act  the  part.  You  know  the 
rest.  I  rather  counted  on  you  to  help  me  if 
necessary,  the  day  I  first  saw  you." 

"  But  you  seemed  to  dislike  — "  I  stopped  in 
confusion. 

"  I  seemed  to  dislike  you?  "  He  finished  it  for 
me,  his  tone  suddenly  warm  and  friendly.  "  I 
was  afraid  of  you,  my  little  lady.  Your  gray 
eyes  are  as  bright  and  quick  as  a  sea-bird's.  I 
trembled  for  my  disguise  when  you  drew  near." 

There  was  a  subtle  compliment  in  his  tone, 
something  that  sent  a  delicious  thrill  of  excite- 
ment chasing  up  my  back.  As  a  consequence  my 
tone  was  unusually  severe  when  I  responded : 

"What  have  you  discovered?  What  is  the 
mystery  of  this  place?  " 

I  sensed  that  he  made  a  baffled  gesture  in  the 
dark.  "  I  don't  know,"  and  his  voice  was  weary. 
"  Something  's  wrong  —  you  Ve  felt  that,  I  guess. 
I  've  been  questioning  Joan,  the  little  sieve ! 
She  's  given  me  a  jumble  of  fact  and  fancy  which 
has  led  me  no  farther  than  my  own  nose.  Aunt 
Eliza  's  bitterly  afraid  of  something,  but  with 
Joan's  chatter  of  Bluebeard  Chambers,  of  some- 
thing '  scary '  in  the  sand-dunes,  of  Hoang's 
nightmares,  and  a  lot  more  vague  stuff,  I  '11  con- 
fess I  'm  at  sea." 

He  paused  as  though  waiting  for  me  to  say 
something.     Certainly  I  was  farther  along  than 


148         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

George  Rogers  Haldayne  toward  the  solving  of 
the  mystery.  As  yet  he  knew,  or  pretended  to 
know,  nothing  about  the  mysterious  notes.  I 
had  seen  the  Chinaman  up  the  gully.  I  sensed 
Miss  Drusilla's  fear  of  the  secret  room.  I  had 
recognized  Hoang's  nightmare  for  what  it  really 
was.     Yet  I  said  nothing. 

As  though  determined  to  pry  an  opinion  from 
me,  he  spoke  again.  "  You  have  felt  this  menace 
too;  what  do  you  think  of  it?  " 

The  words  rushed  from  me  against  my  will. 
"  I  don't  trust  Hoang." 

His  quiet  whisper  came  back :  "  Neither  do  I. 
That  fellow  has  something  to  do  with  it,  I  'm 
sure.     Aunt  Eliza  's  keen  for  him,  though." 

A  sudden  repugnance  at  thus  standing  here  in 
the  dark  kitchen  discussing  my  employer  in  whis- 
pers, swept  over  me.  His  next  wTords  inter- 
rupted my  silent  movement  toward  the  door. 

"  I  heard  some  one  moving  around  down  here ; 
my  room  's  right  above,  you  know.  I  suspected 
it  was  the  Chinaman  up  to  some  deviltry,  so  I 
came  down.  I  had  no  idea  of  scaring  the  wits 
out  of  you." 

Unconsciously  he  moved  one  hand  in  the  gloom 
and  what  fitful  light  there  was  outlined  dully 
the  ugly  stub  of  an  automatic  in  his  hand.  It 
sent  a  peculiar  nausea  over  me.  My  whisper 
shook  when  it  came. 


MIDNIGHT  PROWLERS  149 

"  We  must  n't  stand  here  talking.  They  're 
liable  to  hear  us.  To-morrow,  when  you  're  on 
the  veranda,  I  '11  pretend  to  read  to  you  and  we 
can  discuss  it  then." 

I  jumped  as  his  hand  crept  over  mine  in  the 
gloom.  "  You  're  a  marvel,  Miss  Belmont. 
You  're  the  most  wonderful  girl  I  've  ever 
known !  "  His  tone,  cramped  though  it  was  into 
a  whisper,  wTas  vibrant,  caressing  even.  The 
warm  magnetism  of  his  touch,  the  intent  gaze  of 
his  hazel  eyes  through  the  dusk,  made  my  silly 
heart  leap  like  any  romantic  school-girl's. 

I  almost  snatched  my  hand  away  and  answered 
tartly :  "  Your  acquaintance  must  have  been 
sadly  limited  then,  Mr.  Haldayne.  I  've  got  to 
go  up  and  make  my  mustard-plaster." 

I  heard  him  smother  a  chuckle  at  the  flatness 
of  this  and  we  slipped  out  into  the  long  black 
hall. 

Following  a  man  with  a  pistol  up  a  dark  stair- 
case is  an  infinite  improvement  upon  slipping 
down  those  same  stairs  alone.  The  trip  was 
made  in  a  silence  like  death,  save  for  two  creaks. 
In  the  black  upper  hall  I  found  my  own  door 
and  opened  it  noiselessly.  An  encouraging  grip 
on  the  wrist  and  my  companion  crept  silently  by 
to  his  own.  I  did  not  hear  a  click  as  he  let  him- 
self into  his  room,  but  I  sensed  the  moment  the 
door  closed. 


150        WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

In  the  black  area  of  my  own  room  I  waited, 
sitting  tensely  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  the  flour- 
dish,  for  which  I  had  risked  so  much,  cradled  in 
my  lap. 

Moments  passed,  endless  eons  of  time,  a  little 
foretaste  of  eternity.  I  heard  the  clock  boom 
twelve  and  again  become  swallowed  up  in  silence. 
Still  I  sat  on,  ears  strained,  hands  folded  —  and 
chewing  gum!  chewing,  with  a  rhythmic  and 
businesslike  intensity,  the  very  gum  I  had  confis- 
cated from  Joan  that  afternoon.  And  as  I 
chewed  my  thoughts  churned  steadily  over  the 
events  of  the  evening,  over  the  story  George 
Kogers  Haldayne  had  told  me,  reliving  the  mo- 
ment of  terror  in  the  kitchen,  the  moment  of  re- 
lief which  had  followed  —  that  thrilling  moment 
of  nearness  when  he  whispered  how  wonderful  I 
was  —  and  always  here  I  took  myself  severely  in 
hand  and  chewed  more  vigorously  than  ever. 

When  enough  time  had  elapsed  for  the  crea- 
tion of  an  entire  new  solar  system,  another  hol- 
low boom  welled  up  through  the  aching  void. 

Then  I  arose  and,  dish  firmly  gripped,  felt  my 
way  to  the  door.  Only  my  sense  of  direction  told 
me  that  I  was  out  in  the  hall,  for  the  moon  had 
disappeared  by  now  and  the  thick  blackness  lay 
heavy  everywhere.  My  finger-tips  brushed  the 
walls  as  I  stole  down  to  Miss  Haldayne's  room. 
Deep  breathing  came  faintly  from  behind  the 


MIDNIGHT  PROWLERS  151 

door,  and  my  pounding  heart  outraced  it  while 
I  scattered  the  flour  on  the  floor  boards. 

A  return  trip  to  my  own  opened  room,  to  leave 
the  now  empty  dish  on  the  untouched  bed,  then 
I  was  out  in  the  black  hall  once  more,  my  stock- 
inged feet  treading  their  cautious  way  to  the 
door  of  Hoang. 

To  my  excited  fancy  the  pounding  of  my  heart 
was  filling  the  empty  place  with  echoes.  My  fin- 
gers shook  as  I  pulled  a  hair  from  my  head.  I 
fumbled  the  mass  of  chewing-gum  while  I  ex- 
tracted two  small  pieces,  my  tense  face  screwed 
up  with  dislike  of  the  sticky  mess.  The  rest 
rather  unsanitarily  went  back  into  my  mouth 
while  I  reached  up  and  stretched  the  hair  across 
the  crack  between  the  door  and  its  jamb,  and 
sealed  each  end  with  a  tiny  wad  of  gum. 

I  heard  the  Chinaman  turn  over  restlessly  and 
my  heart  stood  still  until  deep  respiration  told 
of  his  continued  slumber. 

My  arms  were  heavy  with  weakness  when  I 
dropped  them  to  my  sides  after  my  task,  but 
there  was  a  fierce  satisfaction  in  my  brain.  No 
one  could  leave  the  room  that  night  without 
betraying  it  by  the  broken  hair  in  the  morning. 

I  was  calmer  as  I  moved  to  Miss  Drusilla's 
room  and  repeated  the  process,  sacrificing  an- 
other hair  to  the  cause.  There  was  something 
reassuring  about  Miss  Drusilla's  frank  snores. 


152        WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

For  a  moment,  after  completing  this  I  stood  con- 
sidering, my  arms  hanging  inertly  down  in  the 
dark. 

The  result  of  this  cogitation  sent  me  farther 
up  the  hall  to  another  door,  and  as  I  worked  I 
silently  apostrophized  the  inmate : 

"  You  're  very  nice  and  very  plausible  and  I 
hope  you  're  true,  but  I  can  take  no  chances. 
And  I  may  be  '  wonderful '  but  I  'm  sure  that 
ever  so  many  girls  have  found  you  handsome. 
You  are,  you  know." 

The  Filipino  occupied  a  cot  in  his  master's 
room.  The  children  wrere  obviously  not  to  be 
considered.     My  wrork  was  done  for  that  night. 

Only  when  I  slid  between  the  cold  sheets  and 
lay  shivering  in  the  dark  did  the  reaction  come. 
But  through  the  nervous  trembling  a  gleam  of 
humor  persisted, —  a  gleam  of  humor  and  self- 
congratulation.  Whoever  should  leave  his  room 
to  prowl  about  the  house  in  the  night  would  un- 
wittingly betray  himself.  The  mystery  of  the 
threatening  notes  was  about  to  be  solved. 

"  With  many  thanks  to  Mr.  Balzac,"  I  mur- 
mured sleepily  to  myself  as  the  opiate  warmth  of 
the  bed  stole  over  me,  "  though  he  did  not  employ 
anything  so  plebeian  as  gum !  "  and  my  last  lin- 
gering of  consciousness  was  a  mental  picture  of 
the  high-windowed  college  library,  where  I  had 
pored  over  the  works  of  the  great  Frenchman. 


CHAPTER  XI 

QUESTIONS   WITHOUT   ANSWERS 

THE  muffled  clamor  of  the  alarm  clock, 
placed  beneath  my  pillow  that  it  might  not 
rouse  the  entire  household,  woke  me  the  next 
morning.  For  a  moment  I  lay  staring  in  per- 
plexity at  the  early  light  that  filled  the  squares 
of  windows,  then  remembrance  swooped  upon 
me;  the  fantastic  happenings  of  the  night  before 
were  recalled,  curiosity  rose  a-tiptoe  as  to  what 
my  shrewdness  had  netted  me  this  morning. 

I  dressed  hurriedly  in  the  cold  dampness  flood- 
ing the  room  and  quietly  let  myself  out  into  the 
hall  I  had  haunted  so  assiduously  last  night.  It 
was  still  shadowy  this  morning,  save  where  the 
high  window  in  the  bend  of  the  staircase  at  each 
end  slanted  a  pale  rectangle  on  the  floor.  The 
rows  of  doors  blankly  closed  on  each  other. 

My  eyes  leaped  ahead  of  my  cautious  feet  and 
sought  the  dim  white  patch  before  Miss  Hal- 
dayne's  door.     It  was  unmarred. 

Apparently  no  threatening  note  had  been  left 
last  night.     Curiously  enough,  there  was  disap- 

153 


154         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

pointment  mingled  with  my  relief.  To  scan  the 
hair-sealed  doors  was  only  a  form  now.  I  did  it 
perfunctorily,  not  surprised  to  find  them  undis- 
turbed. 

Beturning  to  my  own  room  for  paper  and  a 
whisk-broom,  I  brushed  up  the  flour,  removing 
the  last  traces  of  it  with  a  towel  impressed  as  a 
dust-cloth.  Then,  hearing  the  alarm-clock  ring 
in  Hoang's  room,  I  fled  and  sat  on  the  edge  of  the 
bed  while  I  waited  for  a  more  conventional  ris- 
ing-hour. But  a  grim  resolve  had  formed  in  my 
mind,  an  iron  determination  to  carry  out  this 
same  program  every  night  until  the  mystery  was 
run  to  earth.  One  of  these  days  there  would  be 
a  footprint  in  the  flour,  sometime  a  broken  hair 
would  unfailingly  reveal  who  had  opened  his 
door  in  the  hush  of  the  night.  Until  then  my 
Scotch  tenacity  could  afford  to  wait. 

Eestlessness  drove  me  to  the  breakfast-room 
before  the  others  this  morning.  There  was  the 
usual  taciturn  nod  from  Hoang,  who  continued 
to  shuffle  between  breakfast-room  and  kitchen  as 
he  set  the  table.  To  avoid  his  almost  contemptu- 
ous disregard  I  moved  to  the  window  and  stood 
quietly  between  their  curtains,  my  eyes  plunging 
through  the  stout  wire  mesh  to  the  undulating 
sand-dunes  and  the  tumbling  ocean  beyond. 

The  fog  had  not  entirely  lifted.  The  whole 
scene  swam  in  half -opaque  light  with  the  milky 


QUESTIONS  WITHOUT  ANSWERS     155 

whiteness  of  an  opal.  The  faint  rose  of  the  ris- 
ing sun,  only  half  dreamed  of  as  yet,  was  the  fire 
in  the  heart  of  the  jewel.  The  sea  was  an  in- 
definite moving  mass  out  there  in  the  fog,  slowly 
lifting  and  settling  like  a  restless  ghost.  A  faint 
wind  went  scurrying  through  the  bunch-grass, 
blowing  from  no  apparent  direction,  turning  aim- 
lessly upon  itself,  whisking  back  as  though 
around  invisible  corners,  blowing  little  sand 
eddies  before  it,  shaking  the  lupines  in  a  half- 
hearted way,  as  though  it  were  searching  for 
something,  something  about  which  it  was  not 
very  clear  in  its  own  mind. 

I  felt  a  sympathy  for  that  bewildered  morning 
breeze.  Into  it  I  read  my  own  aimless  turnings 
and  gropings,  my  half-directed  searchings  for  a 
solution  about  which  I  could  only  wildly  con- 
jecture. The  pat  words  of  the  Old  Tentmaker 
stirred  in  my  mind  and  my  lips  formed  them 
noiselessly,  my  eyes  still  on  the  aimless  trail  in 
the  nodding  lupines : 

.  .  .  like  wind  along  the  waste 

I  know  not  whither,  willy-nilly  blowing. 

I  was  playing  with  the  thought  when  the  un- 
mistakable sense  of  some  one's  eyes  upon  me 
stung  my  brain  to  alertness  and  I  wheeled  to  find 
the  Chinaman  regarding  me  unwinkingly  a  few 
feet  away. 


156         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

His  eyes  were  not  on  my  face,  but  there  was  no 
mistaking  the  black  venom  which  glittered  in 
them.  Instinctively  I  followed  his  gaze.  It  led 
to  the  faint  white  trace  on  my  blue-serge  skirt 
where  last  night  the  flour  had  trickled  down  it. 
I  must  have  made  a  guilty  movement,  a  start,  or 
a  half-formed  gesture  to  hide  it  with  my  hand, 
for  he  spoke,  though  his  eyes  did  not  waver  from 
the  white  stain.     . 

"  Missy  Belmont  get  flour?  This  morning  I 
find  flour  on  kitchen  floor." 

Indignation  at  my  owTn  carelessness  and  a 
touch  of  that  fright  Hoang  could  ever  inspire  in 
me,  caused  my  voice  to  shake  a  trifle  as  I  an- 
swered this  in  a  carefully  careless  tone: 

"  Yes,  last  night  I  got  some  flour  for  a  mus- 
tard-plaster. I  may  have  spilt  a  little  on  the 
floor.     I  really  did  n't  notice  in  the  dark." 

The  Chinese  eyes  crept  up  and  up.  They 
seemed  to  have  weight  like  other  crawling  things ; 
it  was  an  eternity  before  they  reached  my  own 
rigidly  composed  gaze.  In  the  direct  light  from 
the  window  they  scintillated  like  two  black 
beads;  two  beads  held  stationary  between  the 
double  folds  of  flesh  which  formed  the  lids.  I 
found  myself  noticing  them  with  an  attention  to 
detail  which  afterward  amazed  me.  Hoang's 
eyes  were  not  oblique ;  no  Chinaman's  are.  It  is 
the  inability  to  open  them  in  the  inner  corners  as 


QUESTIONS  WITHOUT  ANSWERS     157 

wide  as  can  the  Western  races  which  lends  that 
delusion. 

For  a  heart-stopping  moment  my  gaze  plunged 
miles  deep  into  those  glittering  black  irises.  It 
was  much  like  looking  into  a  dark  well  to  the 
half-dreamed-of  shimmer  of  water  somewhere  far 
down  in  the  depths.  The  black  venom  was  ooz- 
ing up  to  meet  me;  I  felt  cold,  felt  my  face 
settling  into  a  rigid  mask.  "  I  'm  being  hypno- 
tized ! "  flashed  across  my  tottering  mind.  The 
thought  pried  me  from  the  horrid  lethargy,  my 
eyes  could  not  wrench  away,  but  I  felt  my 
thoughts  fluttering  backward  as  a  bird  flutters 
before  the  gaze  of  a  snake. 

As  though  he  sensed  the  mental  resistance, 
something  seemed  to  close  beneath  the  surface  of 
the  black  irises  as  a  camera  shutter  closes.  The 
terrible  weight  of  his  eyes  lifted,  the  voice  came, 
a  soft  hissing,  pregnant  with  hidden  meaning. 

"  Missy  Belmont,  I  think  you  not  walk  around 
house  at  night.  Not  good;  you  stay  in  room  at 
night,  I  think  so." 

That  was  all,  Hoang  had  gone,  shuffling  back 
to  the  kitchen  through  the  little  pass  pantry,  a 
model  of  silent  docility,  an  irreproachable  Chi- 
nese servant  in  immaculate  white  linen. 

Feet  descended  the  hall  stairs,  the  capable 
swish  of  starched  percale  filled  the  air,  and  Miss 
Haldayne  entered  the  room.     For  the  moment 


158         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

the  familiar  bustle  of  her  movements  deceived 
me ;  nor  did  her  preoccupied  "  good  morning  " 
mean  anything  to  my  upset  mind. 

She  crossed  to  the  old  black  walnut  china- 
closet  and  began  to  rearrange  the  cups  and  sau- 
cers, breaking  their  orderly  files  only  to  push 
them  again  to  the  same  rigid  formation.  The 
aimlessness  of  this  finally  penetrated  my  ab- 
straction when  a  cup  almost  crashed  to  the  floor. 
I  raised  my  eyes  to  her  half-averted  face  and  a 
low  exclamation  of  alarm  was  jerked  from  me. 
That  face  was  bleak  and  gray  with  fright. 

At  the  noise  she  wheeled  nervously,  her 
startled  eyes  leaped  to  mine  and  clung  there 
wretchedly.  Then  her  head  inclined  stiffly, 
grudgingly,  as  a  tough-fibered  eucalyptus  might 
give  before  the  wind.  Her  voice  was  tense: 
"Another,  this  morning,  Ann.  Every  morning 
now.     Ann,  I  had  to  tell  you !  " 

A  cold  stupefaction  overs  wept  me.  For  the 
moment  I  could  only  stare  back  and  gasp. 

"Why  —  why — "  Speech  was  tripped  up. 
"  Why,  Miss  Haldayne  —  it  can't  be." 

She  missed  the  betrayal  in  my  words  and 
sensed  only  the  contradiction.  The  now  hor- 
ridly familiar  paper  was  extended.  "  Eead  it," 
she  commanded  with  something  of  the  old  com- 
mand. 

I  had  to  send  my  eyes  over  it  twice  before  I 


QUESTIONS  WITHOUT  ANSWEKS      159 

grasped  the  sense,  of  those  sprawling,  childish 
characters. 

And  it's  so  useless.  All  things  have  an  end.  That 
Which  Cannot  Be  Hid!  You  know  it  and  all  your  stub- 
bornness — 

My  eyes  jerked  up  to  meet  the  wretchedness 
of  her  intent  black  gaze.  I  was  dazed,  my  tongue 
thick  with  amazement.  All  I  could  manage  was 
to  stammer  stupidly :  "  Why,  they  could  n't  get 
in !     They  could  n't!  " 

"  Seems  they  did,"  she  said  dryly,  and  I  saw 
the  muscles  of  her  strong  throat  contract.  She 
suddenly  snatched  the  slip  of  paper  from  my 
nerveless  fingers.  "  The  children  are  coming. 
Not  a  word  to  any  one,  Ann ! " 

Whijie  I  preten'ded  to  eat  my  oatmeal  my 
dammed-up  thoughts  suddenly  broke  through  the 
stupefaction  which  had  retained  them  and 
flooded  my  brain  with  wildest  conjecture. 
Something  —  something  apparently  which  could 
walk  through  bolted  doors  and  wire-meshed  win- 
dows —  was  abroad,  roaming  at  will  after  dark 
through  the  echoing  great  rooms  and  up  and 
down  the  creaking  staircases.  I  gave  such  a 
violent  shudder  that  Miss  Drusilla  looked  up 
inquiringly  from  sugaring  her  coffee,  and  I  ad- 
dressed a  hurried  remark  to  Harry  to  avoid  her 
comment. 


160         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

What  was  it  that  could  hide  from  four  people 
—  six,  when  the  pseudo  invalid  and  his  at- 
tendant were  taken  into  account?  What  was  it 
that  could  gain  entrance  to  an  apparently  en- 
tranceless  room  and  leave  no  telltale  footprint? 
Could  it  see  in  the  dark  like  a  cat  and  thus  avoid 
stepping  on  the  betraying  flour?  Had  it  watched 
me  through  the  night?  Had  its  unwinking  eyes 
been  fastened  on  me  as  I  toiled  down  the  creak- 
ing stairs  to  the  kitchen,  watching  while  I  scat- 
tered the  flour  later,  brave  in  the  fooPs  security 
that  I  was  alone?  The  thought  was  so  gruesome 
that  it  brought  its  own  reaction.  I  set  my  mind 
on  a  more  wholesome  track. 

Whatever  it  was,  it  was  human.  The  child- 
ishness of  the  handwriting  was  a  ruse.  The  note 
was  clever  in  its  wording,  its  very  vagueness 
more  tormenting  than  a  direct  threat  would  be. 
It  held  the  half-childish  taunt  that  I  had  more 
than  once  detected  Miss  Drusilla  directing  to- 
ward her  sister. 

Miss  Drusilla! 

I  slyly  turned  my  head  and  surveyed  her  with 
new  eyes.  She  was  placidly  stirring  her  coffee, 
a  pile  of  thickly  buttered  toast  before  her.  Was 
it  possible  that  the  clumsy  coquetry  of  her  de- 
meanor hid  an  alert  vindictiveness?  that  a  mis- 
chievous brain  lay  beneath  the  drab  masses  of 
her  light  hair?  that  her  china  blue  eyes  could 


QUESTIONS  WITHOUT  ANSWERS     161 

narrow  speculatively,  could  plan  this  means  of 
refined  torture  for  the  sister  she  so  disliked? 
But,  even  granting  that  she  was  the  means,  how 
could  she  get  into  the  room? 

On  the  other  hand,  there  were  those  last  words 
of  Hoang's,  words  that  thinly  veiled  a  threat. 
Why  was  I  not  to  walk  about  the  house  at  night 
if  it  was  not  to  avoid  meeting  the  mysterious 
writer?  The  remark  betrayed  a  guilty  knowl- 
edge on  Hoang's  part,  but  if  Miss  Drusilla  was 
the  perpetrator,  why  should  he  seek  to  shield 
her?  There  was  ever-spiteful  dislike  in  her  atti- 
tude toward  the  Chinaman,  a  disdainful  stolidity 
in  his  bearing  toward  her.  Imagination  could 
not  stretch  to  conceive  of  a  possible  bond  between 
the  two. 

An  annoyed  glance  at  my  untouched  porridge- 
bowl  from  Miss  Haldayne  relegated  these 
thoughts  to  the  background  of  my  mind.  The 
peculiar  woman  had  recovered  her  poise  to  a  cer- 
tain extent,  though  her  face  remained  strained 
and  grayish  and  her  eyes  were  haunted. 

At  the  end  of  her  meal  she  abruptly  pushed 
back  her  chair  and  bolted  into  the  hall  as  she 
had  on  that  former  occasion,  as  though  fearful 
that  the  tabooed  subject  might  arise  between  us, 
while  I  slowly  trailed  Miss  Drusilla  and  her 
creaking  corsets  from  the  room. 

That  morning,  when  I  took  the  children  for 


162         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

the  daily  scamper  on  the  beach,  I  turned  as  I 
reached  the  foot  of  the  shallow  steps  and  scanned 
the  windows  of  Miss  Haldayne's  room  above  me. 
Twenty  feet  from  the  ground  though  they  were, 
I  could  easily  see  the  stout  rusty  nails  which  held 
the  heavy  mesh  to  the  window  frame.  Certainly 
the  mysterious  prowler  had  not  entered  here. 

Half-way  through  the  geography  lesson,  the 
last  subject  in  our  little  curriculum,  I  heard  the 
rhythmic  squeak  of  the  invalid  chair  being 
wheeled  to  the  veranda.  For  no  apparent  rea- 
son, and  much  to  my  own  inward  disgust,  I  felt 
my  cheeks  burning.  This  interest  in  a  man  I  had 
really  seen  but  once  set  me  to  jeering  at  myself. 
Almost  vindictively  I  sent  Joan  stumbling  on  an 
oral  tour  through  the  capitals  of  the  United 
States,  in  a  vain  attempt  to  smother  my  disturb- 
ing thoughts.  In  my  zeal  I  overran  the  study 
period  and  was  recalled  to  myself  only  by  two 
pairs  of  round  eyes  fixed  on  me  in  mute  reproach. 

Joan  now  reminded  me  of  a  doll-hat  I  had 
rashly  promised  to  make  this  afternoon  and  a 
few  minutes  later  our  little  procession  passed 
along  the  hall  toward  the  veranda,  Harry  lead- 
ing the  way,  his  short  arms  filled  with  blocks 
rather  precariously  balanced;  Joan  toting  the 
life-sized  doll,  and  lastly  myself  laden  with  the 
makings  of  diminutive  millinery,  my  face  set  in 


QUESTIONS  WITHOUT  ANSWERS     163 

what  I  hoped  was  placid  self-possession  but  what 
was  doubtless  a  guilty  rigidity. 

The  man  in  the  chair  stirred  as  our  little 
parade  clattered  noisily  out  upon  the  wooden 
veranda  and  his  head  turned  in  our  direction. 
The  movement  was  so  unconsciously  appealing, 
when  taken  in  connection  with  the  legs  patheti- 
cally stretched  before  him,  that  I  had  a  weird 
sense  of  the  unreality  of  it  all.  Was  it  possible 
that  the  pathetic  dark  glasses  hid  a  pair  of 
brightest  and  steadiest  hazel  eyes, —  eyes  which 
were  no  doubt  scanning  our  faces  even  now  and 
reading  our  innermost  thoughts?  Had  those 
helpless  legs  crept  downstairs  in  the  dark  last 
night,  moving  with  the  silence  and  sureness  of 
a  leopard?  His  disguise  was  complete.  Truly, 
George  Rogers  Haldayne  was  a  valuable  ally  — 
a  formidable  antagonist. 

With  a  most  casual  "  good  morning,"  I  sat 
down  in  a  wooden  rocker  near  by  and  embarked 
on  my  millinery  expedition  while  the  youngsters 
danced  about  us  like  irrepressible  ripples. 

The  red  promise  of  the  sun  that  morning  had 
turned  into  a  weak  saffron  radiance  which  cov- 
ered the  distant  sand-dunes  with  a  thin  wash  of 
gold.  No  wind  stirred  among  the  sad  green 
clumps  of  bunch-grass,  sea-gulls  high  aloft  in  the 
calm  day  glistened  like  silver  scales  suspended 


164         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

in  the  sky.  The  sun  splashed  across  the  worn 
gray  boards  of  the  porch,  picking  out  russet 
glows  in  Joan's  seal-brown  hair,  surrounding, 
with  a  light-touched  halo,  the  recumbent  head  of 
the  man.  In  an  hour  or  so  the  ocean  wind  would 
again  be  sweeping  bleakly  over  this  stretch  of 
sand,  driving  the  afternoon  fog  before  it ;  the  tide 
would  have  deserted  the  dreary  little  stretch  of 
beach,  leaving  it  brown  and  naked  in  the  murder- 
ous clutch  of  kelp;  the  brief  golden  radiance 
would  have  faded  to  a  sad  gray  light;  but  for 
these  two  precious  hours  in  the  heart  of  the  day 
Dune  House  held  a  dreary  beauty. 

I  sensed  the  man's  impatience  until  I  had  tact- 
fully decoyed  the  children  to  a  play-place  out  of 
earshot.     He  burst  out  almost  immediately: 

"  Miss  Belmont,  this  thing  has  me  worried.  I 
have  n't  a  thing  to  go  on  but  that  vague  fear  in 
Florence's  letter.  Nothing  definite  has  hap- 
pened in  the  house  that  I  can  discover,  but  I  feel 
it  all  about  me  —  an  unpleasant  mystery.  It 's 
there,  as  real  and  as  elusive  as  —  cobwebs !  " 

His  tone  was  impatient,  yet  carefully  modu- 
lated that  it  would  reach  no  farther  than  my  own 
ears.  He  continued,  checking  a  too-impetuous 
motion  of  his  hand : 

"  Aunt  Eliza  's  worried,  worried  stiff,  about 
something.  She's  a  tremendously  nervous 
woman,    despite    that    magnificent    self-control 


QUESTIONS  WITHOUT  ANSWERS      165 

she  ?s   acquired.     She 's   afraid,  Miss  Belmont. 
Now  what  the  dickens  is  she  afraid  of?  " 

He  paused,  but  I  bent  quietly  over  my  sewing 
and  did  not  speak.  A  wave  or  two  rolled  in  to 
break  the  silence  before  he  began  again : 

"  Aunt  Drusilla  's  spiteful.  I  ?ve  heard  her 
taunt  her  sister  —  little  slighting  remarks  about 
lack  of  personal  beauty.  You  've  heard  her  too, 
no  doubt.  I  wonder  if  that  has  any  bearing  on 
it?  Drusilla  must  have  something  on  her. 
There  's  an  old  grievance  there,  still  festering. 
They  love  each  other  like  two  strange  cats,  but 
that  would  n't  account  for  that  haunted  look  in 
Aunt  Eliza's  eyes."  A  frown  suddenly  knit  his 
forehead.  "  Why  don't  you  say  something?  "  he 
inquired  almost  petulantly. 

I  looked  up  at  this,  my  eyes  innocent.  "  I 
haven't  anything  to  contribute.  I  sense  the 
same  thing  you  do.  There  's  something  wrong 
here  at  Dune  House, —  I  've  felt  that  from  the 
start, —  but  I  can't  make  it  out." 

He  suddenly  chuckled.  "  Scotch  canniness ! 
Do  all  Presbyterians  beseech  the  Lord  to  set  a 
watch  on  their  lips  by  day?  " 

I  flushed  at  the  astuteness  of  his  suspicions. 
Within  me  a  fierce  debate  was  raging  as  to 
whether  or  not  I  should  take  this  man  into  my 
confidence.  His  story  last  night  was  fantastic, 
but  it  rang  true.     It  entirely  agreed  with  the 


166         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

brief  history  I  had  had  of  him  through  Miss  Dru- 
silla;  yet  something  —  he  had  called  it  Scotch 
canniness, —  checked  the  impulse  to  confession. 

"  There  is  an  explanation,"  I  told  myself 
grimly.  "  There 's  no  such  thing  as  supernatural 
beings  prowling  about  a  house  to  leave  mysterious 
notes  in  their  wake."  The  trap  could  n't  have 
been  complete.  There  was  a  loophole  of  escape. 
The  hair  on  the  doors  had  proved  that  they  had 
not  been  opened  once  I  had  sealed  them,  but  there 
was  a  chance  that  the  note  had  been  left  while  I 
was  prowling  below  in  the  dark  kitchen.  Then 
again  —  this  thought  rushed  upon  me,  turning 
me  cold  to  the  tips  of  my  toes, —  every  door  had 
not  been  sealed.  There  was  the  door  to  Joan's 
"  Bluebeard  Chamber  " ! 

These  were  two  possibilities,  even  probabilities, 
always  ignoring  the  bothering  fact  of  the  un- 
marred  flour. 

George  Eogers  Haldayne  apparently  knew 
nothing  of  the  threatening  notes,  some  of  which 
had  come  before  his  arrival.  He  might  even  be 
able  to  make  a  guess  at  their  origin,  but  that  in- 
bred caution  of  mine  held  back  the  mention  of 
them. 

In  my  reply  I  ignored  the  raillery  of  his  last 
remark:  "  Joan  told  you  of  the  secret  room?  " 

"  The  Bluebeard  Chamber,  yes.  What  do  you 
know  of  it,  Miss  Belmont?  " 


QUESTIONS  WITHOUT  ANSWERS     167 

"  Only  as  much  as  you  do.  Except  —  once  I 
ran  down  the  wrong  flight  of  stairs  by  mistake. 
When  I  first  came  here,  you  know.  I  thought  I 
was  at  the  door  of  the  little  sitting-room,  but  as 
I  took  hold  of  the  knob  I  heard  Miss  Drusilla 
cry  out  in  alarm.  She  was  sorting  sheets  in 
the  downstairs  linen-closet.  She  told  me  never 
to  go  in  there;  that  Miss  Haldayne  would  be  very 
much  annoyed.  She  said  no  one  ever  went  there 
save  Miss  Haldayne.  There  wras  no  concealment 
of  the  fact  that  she  was  very  much  frightened." 

"  But  you  never  looked  in  the  room  ?  " 

"  It  ?s  locked.  The  shutters  are  closed.  One 
can't  see  through  the  keyhole." 

He  laughed  at  the  naivete  of  this  and  I  joined 
him  at  my  own  expense.  "  I  was  going  to  climb 
a  ladder  and  look  through  a  missing  slat  of  the 
shutter,  the  day  you  came." 

"  I  saw  you."  He  chuckled  again.  "  You 
looked  so  slim  and  helpless  on  that  ladder  —  and 
so  scared!  —  like  a  little  ruffled  sparrow  cling- 
ing to  an  uncomfortable  perch." 

His  tone  held  again  the  half-laughing  note  of 
admiration  of  last  night.  My  silly  heart  skipped 
a  beat,  but  my  voice  grew  severe :  "  Our  mystery 
leads  us  nowhere,  apparently." 

"Kebuked!" 

I  looked  up  with  all  the  cold  dignity  I  could 
command,  then  quickly  lowered  my  head  over  my 


168         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

sewing  again.  The  dark  glasses  were  turned  full 
in  my  direction ;  I  could  imagine  the  teasing  light 
in  the  hazel  eyes  behind  them. 

"  There 's  something  wonderfully  attractive 
about  sparrows,  don't  you  think  so,  Miss  Bel- 
mont ?" 

A  flirtation  with  the  governess  relieves  bore- 
dom when  there  is  nothing  more  attractive  to  do. 
I  reminded  myself  of  this  sharply  and  my  reply 
came  with  casual  tartness : 

"Hardly.  Nasty,  disagreeable  little  things, 
I  think.?' 

I  could  feel  the  delighted  twinkle  of  those 
hidden  eyes.  "  Maybe  you  're  right,"  with  mock 
deliberation,  and  his  lips  twitched. 

I  kept  my  countenance,  but  I  hated  myself  for 
the  red  tide  I  could  feel  pushing  its  way  into  my 
face,  and  I  was  grateful  for  the  dark  glasses 
which  must  have  covered  my  confusion.  My 
work  was  examined  with  the  squinted  eye  of  a 
connoisseur,  then  with  regained  self-possession 
I  inquired,  "  What  do  you  think  can  be  in  the 
secret  room?  Do  you  think  that  would  have 
any  bearing  on  the  mystery?  " 

"  It 's  probably  an  empty  room  like  those  bed- 
rooms upstairs.  Perhaps  Aunt  Eliza  stores 
trunks  in  it.  A  youngster  can  make  a  mystery 
out  of  any  dark  hole,  and  Joan's  choice  of  books 
has  been  rather  lurid,  I  've  discovered." 


QUESTIONS  WITHOUT  ANSWERS      169 

I  nodded  gravely.  "I've  thought  the  same 
thing  —  then  again  —  well,  I  '11  be  happier  when 
I  know  what  's  in  it  and  if  those  shutters  are 
closed  merely  to  keep  the  carpet  from  fading." 

There  was  another  silence,  broken  only  by  the 
surge  of  the  sea  and  the  happy  quarreling  of  the 
children  in  the  corner.  Again  I  fought  down 
the  impulse  to  give  this  man  my  confidence,  to 
relate  the  mystery  of  the  notes,  to  speak  of  the 
Chinaman  hidden  up  the  gully,  of  the  death-howl 
in  the  night  and  the  dancing  lights  far  out  on 
the  dunes.  Once  the  impulse  to  tell  of  the  trap 
I  had  so  cleverly  set  and  which  had  been  more 
cleverly  evaded,  nearly  grew  to  words,  then  that 
wise  old  Scotch  saw  stirred  in  my  cautious  mind : 
"  Tell  na'body ;  that  lessens  suspicion  by  one." 

He  finally  broke  the  silence  by  saying  slowly : 
"  I  don't  see  why,  but  I  can't  rid  myself  of  a  dis- 
like for  Hoang.  He 's  so  taciturn ;  there 's  some- 
thing about  him  —  something  — " 

"  Kitty-catty !  "  I  put  in  whole-heartedly  as  he 
hesitated.  "  He  's  always  behind  you  when  you 
least  expect  it.  He  knew  I  was  downstairs  last 
night,  by  the  flour  on  the  kitchen  floor.  No,  no," 
at  his  look  of  alarm,  "  he  does  n't  suspect  you, 
I  'm  sure.  But  he  told  me  it  was  not  good  to 
wander  about  the  house  in  the  dark.  His  words 
were  almost  a  threat,  Mr.  Haldayne.  Yet  I  'm 
sure  he  does  n't  leave  his  room  at  night  — "    I 


170         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

stopped  short,  confused  at  my  unconscious  be- 
trayal. 

Again  came  the  desire  to  confide  in  the  man 
and  again  I  resolutely  fought  it  down.  For  in 
the  back  of  my  brain  a  stern  impulse  was  stir- 
ring. Somewhere  there  must  have  been  a  flaw  in 
my  reasoning.  The  mysterious  intruder  may 
have  entered  Miss  Haldayne's  room  before  I  had 
set  my  floury  trap,  before  I  sealed  the  doors  with 
the  hair.  To-night  I  would  try  my  luck  again, 
to-night  the  telltale  flour  would  be  sprinkled  in 
the  hall  once  more,  and  all  the  doors  —  even  the 
door  of  the  secret  room  —  should  be  sealed  before 
I  went  to  bed. 

Nor  did  I  foresee  that  the  next  day  would  find 
me  sorely  perplexed  and  frightened,  turning  to 
this  man  as  an  ally. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   FOOTPRINT   IN   THE   FLOUR 

SURF  and  wind  and  rising  tide, —  ever  since 
that  combination  has  been  sufficient  to  flash 
me  back  to  that  September  day  on  the  weather- 
beaten  veranda  at  Dune  House,  where,  alert  and 
tense  beneath  his  mock  invalid  wrappings, 
George  Rogers  Haldayne  listened  to  my  low 
frightened  voice. 

What  a  contrast  this,  from  the  day  that  had 
gone  before!  Then  I  had  been  still  skeptical, 
ridiculously  self-sufficient.  Now  I  poured  out 
my  heart,  revealing  all  of  its  troubled  and  chaotic 
information. 

George  Rogers  learned  of  the  locked  door  on 
my  first  night  at  Dune  House;  of  the  silent  vigil 
I  had  kept  over  the  sand-dunes  through  that  long 
warm  day.  He  learned  of  the  mysterious  notes, 
of  the  Chinaman  hidden  in  the  little  gully;  of 
the  terrible  night  of  the  death-howl  and  the  danc- 
ing lights;  he  learned  of  everything,  even  of  the 
real  use  to  which  I  had  put  the  flour  and  the  man- 
ner in  which  I  had  sealed  the  bedroom  doors. 

171 


172         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

At  this  point  he  interrupted  my  low,  rapid 
recital  with  a  sharp  exclamation  of  admiration : 

"  Good  Lord,  you  're  a  marvelous  girl !  I  knew 
it  the  minute  I  first  saw  those  quiet,  bright 
eyes  of  yours.  That 's  wonderfully  clever,  you 
know !  " 

"  Balzac  did  it  first,"  I  disclaimed  briefly. 

"  But  there  's  not  another  girl  in  the  world 
who  would  have  thought  of  it !  You  spunky  lit- 
tle thing!" 

The  compliment  spattered  off  of  me  as  a  spar- 
row spatters  water.  I  continued  a  little  impa- 
tiently, my  voice  sinking  even  lower.  Every 
now  and  again  I  glanced  nervously  over  my 
shoulder  at  the  expanse  of  sun-flooded  vacant 
porch  which  lay  between  us  and  the  opened 
French  window. 

"  Last  night  I  waited  until  the  house  had  set- 
tled to  quietude.  Hoang  came  upstairs  the  last 
of  all,  after  he  had  blown  out  the  lamps  in  the 
lower  hall.  I  saw  the  yellow  light  from  the  lamp 
he  carried,  through  the  crack  at  the  base  of  my 
door.  Then  it  went  out  in  darkness  as  he  closed 
his  door  and  everything  was  still.  I  had  saved 
the  flour  I  swept,  up  that  morning  and  when  per- 
haps half  an  hour  or  so  had  gone  by  I  slipped  out 
into  the  hall  and  scattered  it  before  Miss  Hal- 
dayne's  door.  Then  I  sealed  the  doors  of  the 
rooms."    I  neglected  to  tell  him  that  he  had  been 


THE  FOOTPEINT  IN  THE  FLOUR     173 

included  in  this  attention  and  continued  hastily, 
"  Eight  after  dinner  I  'd  sealed  the  door  of  the 
secret  room." 

Here  I  shivered,  despite  the  sun  on  my  back, 
and  then  glared  at  the  man  as  though  he  was  to 
blame  for  this  betrayal  of  weakness.  "  Nothing 
happened  while  I  was  sealing  it ! "  I  said  almost 
defiantly. 

"  I  'm  unarmed !  "  he  said  in  mock  alarm. 

I  scowled  at  this  levity  and  continued :  "  I 
woke  early  the  next  morning  —  I'd  put  the 
alarm-clock  under  my  pillow  you  know.  No  one 
else  was  awake  at  that  hour.  I  heard  the  clock 
downstairs  in  the  sitting-room  strike  five  when  I 
crept  into  the  hall.  Mr.  Haldayne,  there  was  a 
footprint  in  the  flour." 

The  man  before  me  started  and  in  his  agita- 
tion shoved  his  dark  glasses  up  on  his  forehead, 
the  bright  hazel  eyes  plunging  into  mine  for  a 
startled  moment  before  he  remembered  his  role 
and  jerked  them  down  again. 

I  swept  on  before  the  startled  ejaculation  I 
could  see  forming  on  his  lips.  "  A  flat,  shape- 
less imprint ;  it  was  not  made  by  a  bare  foot  nor 
by  the  conventional  shoe  with  a  heel.  It  might 
have  been  a  stockinged  foot,"  I  finished  doubt- 
fully. 

"  Go  on !  Whose  — "  The  man's  voice  was 
hoarse  with  suspense.     I  felt  that,  behind  the 


174         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

glasses,  his  eyes  were  held  by  mine  in  an  almost 
hypnotic  spell.  My  own  voice  came  more  quietly 
now. 

"  There  was  n't  a  door  that  had  been  opened, 
Mr.  Haldayne.  I  made  sure  of  them  all.  Even 
on  the  door  of  the  secret  room  the  hair  was  un- 
disturbed." 

The  young  man's  forehead  suddenly  creased 
with  perplexity.  "  Good  Lord ! "  and  his  tone 
was  a  peculiar  mixture  of  testiness  and  amaze- 
ment. "  Who  else  is  in  the  house  —  and  how  do 
they  get  in !  I  ?d  suspect  Hoang  was  admitting 
some  one  at  night  after  every  one  retired,  some 
enemy  of  Aunt  Eliza,  but  you  say  the  seal  on  his 
door  was  intact." 

"  Wait,"  I  advised  quietly.  "  There  's  more  to 
my  story.  I  stood  in  the  dim  hall  and  stared  at 
that  patch  of  whiteness  until  it  was  imprinted 
indelibly  on  my  mind.  There  was  this  large, 
shapeless  print ;  and,  Mr.  Haldayne,  it  led  out  of 
the  room." 

I  heard  him  gasp  at  that  and  I  continued  in  a 
rapid  voice: 

"  There  were  faint  traces  of  flour  leading  down 
the  hall.  Near  the  top  of  the  stairs  they  died 
out,  showing  that  —  something  —  went  down  the 
stairs  in  the  dark.  I  went  back  to  the  patch 
and  looked  again.  There  was  a  fainter  imprint 
near  the  outer  edge  leading  into  the  room. 


THE  FOOTPRINT  IN  THE  FLOUR     175 

"  I  heard  the  alarm-clock  ring  in  Hoang's  room 
then,  and  I  hurried  back  to  my  own  for  the  paper 
and  whisk-broom.  After  I  'd  removed  the  flour 
I  locked  my  door  and  waited  for  the  usual  hour 
of  going  downstairs.  I  tried  to  reason  it  out.  I 
remembered  that  Hoang  was  the  last  to  retire 
every  night.  I  thought,  as  you  did,  that  he 
might  be  admitting  some  one  to  the  house ;  some 
one  who  lies  hidden  in  the  sand-dunes  by  day." 

A  vision  of  the  Chinese  face  I  had  seen 
screened  by  the  lupines  flashed  before  me  and 
involuntarily  I  shivered.  The  man's  hand  sud- 
denly covered  mine  at  the  action  and  the  warm, 
compelling  feel  of  those  long  fingers  sent  a  thrill 
tingling  up  my  arm  before  I  snatched  my  hand 
away,  my  cheeks  crimsoning,  to  my  helpless  an- 
noyance. 

My  tone  was  shaky  as  I  continued :  "  I  went 
down  to  the  dining-room  shortly  after  I  heard 
Miss  Haldayne's  door  open.  Miss  Drusilla  is 
generally  late  for  breakfast  and  I  knew  the  chil- 
dren would  n't  be  down  for  several  minutes.  She 
looked  up  as  I  came  into  the  room  —  Miss  Hal- 
dayne.  Hoang  was  in  the  kitchen.  She  looked 
up  and  her  eyes  —  Mr.  Haldayne,  they  were  life- 
less! Glazed,  hopeless, —  eyes  that  can't  be  de- 
scribed. She  looked  like  one  in  a  trance.  Her 
face  was  drawn  and  gray  —  she 's  grown  so  much 
thinner  and  older  in  these  last  weeks!     Her 


176         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

voice  was  almost  a  whisper;  it  seemed  choked. 
I  must  have  cried  out  or  stared  very  hard,  for 
she  nodded  twice  before  her  words  came. 

"  *  Again,  this  morning,  Ann.  Another  —  and, 
Ann,  they  came  downstairs ! ' 

"  For  the  moment  I  thought  that  she  had 
noticed  the  traces  of  flour  on  the  hallway  and  my 
heart  jumped  guiltily,  but  before  I  could  speak 
she  went  on: 

"  *  The  heavy  curtain  before  the  bay-window 
was  pulled  aside.  Pulled  aside,  Ann,  so  they 
could  look  out  on  the  dunes ! ' 

?  I  'm  sure  I  cried  out  at  that.  The  thought 
of  —  Something,  pressing  its  face  to  the  closed 
windows,  peering  out  into  the  night,  was  horrify- 
ing. 

"Miss  Haldayne  continued  huddled  there  — 
huddled  is  the  only  word.  Her  big  frame  was 
sunk  in  the  carpet-lined  rocker,  her  eyes  fixed  so 
helplessly,  so  heavily  on  mine. 

"  When  I  could  I  spoke.  *  Where 's  the  note?  ' 
I  asked. 

"  Her  eyes  shifted  at  this.  '  I  tore  it  up.  I 
destroyed  it  in  anger.'  I  knew  this  was  a  lie. 
Undoubtedly  there  was  something  in  the  note, 
something  more  definite  than  anything  that  had 
been  written  so  far,  something  she  didn't  want 
me  to  see. 

" '  Ann ! 9   and   her   voice  was   a   low    wail. 


THE  FOOTPRINT  IN  THE  FLOUR     177 

'  What  shall  I  do,  Ann?    How  in  God's  name  do 
they  get  in?' 

"  I  was  about  to  tell  her,  Mr.  Haldayne,  of  our 
suspicions  of  Hoang,  though  she  probably 
would  n't  have  listened,  but  just  then  we  heard 
Miss  Drusilla  creaking  down  the  stairs  and  that 
brought  Miss  Haldayne  to  her  feet.  She  was 
nervous  and  rigid  with  the  effort  of  pulling  her- 
self together,  her  fingers  gripped  my  upper  arm 
until  they  left  bruises. 

"  '  Not  a  word !  Not  a  word  about  this,  Ann ! 
They  must  n't  know.  Ann,  I  'm  relying  on 
you! ' 

"  She  released  me  then  and  abruptly  darted 
into  the  kitchen  as  Miss  Drusilla  squeezed 
through  the  hall  door.  Almost  as  abruptly  I 
squeezed  past  with  some  mumbled  excuse  about 
a  headache. 

"  It  seems  cowardly,  deserting  Miss  Haldayne 
when  she  needed  me,  but  I  couldn't  go  on 
placidly  eating  oatmeal  when  my  ears  were  ring- 
ing and  my  heart  pounding.  I  couldn't,  Mr. 
Haldayne ! " 

I  found  that  I  was  pleading  for  the  man's 
understanding  and  I  was  not  disappointed.  "  Of 
course  you  couldn't,"  came  decidedly.  Again 
his  hand  gripped  mine  and  this  time  I  clung 
back  for  a  moment  before  I  gently  drew  away. 

I  gulped,  and  continued.     "When  I  got  up- 


178         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

stairs  I  went  directly  to  Miss  Haldayne's  room. 
I  felt  that  I  must  find  some  clew  to  this  perpetual 
mystery.  It  was  beginning  to  prey  on  my  nerves. 
I  tried  to  reason  logically.  Two  things  alone 
could  happen,  I  told  myself;  either  Hoang  lets 
some  one  in  at  night  after  the  rest  of  the  house 
has  gone  to  bed,  some  one  who  has  a  key  to  Miss 
Haldayne's  room ;  or  —  don't  think  I  ?m  melo- 
dramatic, but  only  this  could  be  the  solution, — 
some  one  is  in  the  house  all  the  time  and  gets 
into  her  room  by  some  secret  means. 

"  I  recalled  the  old  manor-houses  of  England 
and  Scotland,  with  their  secret  passages,  their 
hidden  rooms,  their  priest-holes  opening  through 
fireplaces  and  swinging  flagstones.  But  the 
walls  here  were  smooth,  unbroken  plaster.  I 
told  myself  then  that  there  must  be  a  trap-door ; 
I  was  desperate,  you  see.  There  is  a  large  rag 
carpet  in  Miss  Haldayne's  room.  It 's  not  nailed 
down.  I  was  down  on  my  hands  and  knees,  roll- 
ing it  up  from  under  the  legs  of  the  bed,  when  I 
suddenly  noticed  something.  In  this  position 
my  eyes  were  on  a  level  with  things  on  the  floor. 
I  got  an  angle  on  them  that  was  lost  when  I  stood 
erect.  Miss  Haldayne's  bedroom  slippers  were 
placed  primly  side  by  side  near  the  head  of  the 
bed,  by  the  mopboard.  They  are  shapeless  af- 
fairs with  eider-down  soles.  One  had  fallen  on 
its  side.     I  picked  it  up  and  sat  there  on  my 


THE  FOOTPRINT  IN  THE  FLOUR     179 

heels  staring  at  the  slipper  in  my  hand.     It's 
sole  was  covered  with  flour." 

In  the  brief  silence  which  followed  the  man  be- 
fore me  looked  stunned.  Even  through  the  dis- 
guise of  the  glasses  I  could  see  that.  When  he 
spoke  his  voice  held  a  curious  hush,  as  though  the 
vitality  had  been  shocked  from  it. 

"  You  mean  —  Aunt  Eliza  herself  —  was 
prowling  about  the  house?  That  —  that — " 
He  floundered,  overcome  by  the  unexpectedness 
of  it. 

"  Good  Lord !  then  she  's  deliberately  been  de- 
ceiving you!  She's  running  some  game  on 
you  — " 

I  nodded,  mutely  miserable.  Despite  her 
peculiarities  I  had  liked  the  odd  woman.  To 
feel  that  she  had  cold-bloodedly  worked  on  my 
sympathy  and  credulity !     I  could  not  fathom  it. 

"  But  why  — " 

It  was  the  same  question  I  had  been  asking 
myself  all  that  day.  I  flung  out  my  hands  help- 
lessly.    "  I  don't  know !  " 

"  But  why  in  the  world  should  she  seek  to 
deceive  you?  Do  you  think  she's  writing  the 
notes  herself?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  Mr.  Haldayne !  "  I  repeated  a 
trifle  impatiently.  "  Oh,  I  don't  know !  "  this 
last  was  a  cry  of  anguish  as  much  to  myself  as 
to  him.     "  I   can't  believe  it ;   she  was  really 


180        WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

frightened ;  I  can  tell  when  a  person  's  frightened 
and  I  tell  you  she  was  gray  with  fear ! v 

"  Do  you  suppose  some  one  else  may  be  using 
her  slippers,  to  turn  suspicion  from  himself?  "  he 
asked  next. 

I  considered  it  gravely.  It  sounded  ridic- 
ulous, but  we  could  not  afford  to  leave  any  stone 
unturned  for  the  mere  fear  for  ridicule. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  suppose,"  I  finally  said 
helplessly.  "  I  ?m  all  at  sea.  This  was  the 
last  thing  on  earth  I  expected.  Why,  Mr.  Hal- 
dayne,  she  seemed  so  frightened !  —  underneath, 
you  know,  as  if  she  held  herself  from  flying  into 
a  panic  only  by  exercising  that  tremendous  will 
of  hers.  And  why?  What's  to  be  gained  by 
hoaxing  me?  "  It  was  my  turn  to  ask  the  ques- 
tion. 

"  Aunt  Eliza  's  a  shrewd  woman,"  put  in  her 
nephew,  slowly.  u  Maybe  she  suspects  you  're 
finding  out  too  much.  Perhaps  she  's  trying  to 
scare  you  away." 

I  shook  my  head.  "  And  yet  when  I  wanted  to 
go,  that  morning  following  the  death-howl,  she 
was  reluctant  to  have  me.  There  was  genuine 
relief  on  her  face  when  I  said  I  'd  stay  for  the 
children's  sake." 

"And  look  how  afraid  she  is  of  the  dark. 
That 's  not  put  on.  Ever  since  I  've  been  here 
the  lights  have  been  lit  as  soon  as  daylight  fades. 


THE  FOOTPRINT  IN  THE  FLOUR     181 

Hoang  is  always  the  one  to  put  them  out.  I  've 
seen  her  shrink  from  going  into  the  sitting-room 
before  the  light  was  lit,  though  it  was  still  day- 
light. It  's  as  though  she  feared  that  some 
enemy  might  be  hidden  in  the  shadows." 

"Then  to  think  that  she  could  creep  down- 
stairs in  the  dead  of  night,  down  into  the  dark 
front  parlor !  And  why  — "  a  new  thought  struck 
me  — "  why  did  she  tell  me  about  the  curtain 
over  the  parlor  window  being  disarranged?  Did 
she  suspect  that  I  was  prowling  through  the 
house  at  night?  " 

"  Hoang  ! "  we  both  exclaimed  at  once.  I 
rushed  on.  "  Hoang  must  have  told  her  about 
finding  the  flour  on  the  floor  and  she  is  trying  to 
frighten  me  with  the  idea  that  some  one  is  hiding 
in  the  house  at  night." 

For  the  moment  it  almost  seemed  as  though 
we  were  making  progress ;  then  the  other  baffling 
angle  of  the  thing  crowded  upon  me :  "  But 
those  notes !  If  she  's  prowling  about  the  house 
playing  ghost,  is  she  writing  the  notes  to  deceive 
me  as  well?  " 

It  was  his  turn  to  make  a  hopeless  gesture. 
"  I  can't  see  what 's  to  be  gained,"  he  said  wear- 
ily. "  It  seems  such  a  stupid  deception,  so  aim- 
less." 

We  were  both  still  for  a  moment.  Again  came 
the  surge  of  the  sea  beating  in  on  the  ears ;  came 


182        WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

Joan's  clear  treble  while  she  read  a  fairy  tale 
aloud  to  Harry  in  the  angle  of  the  veranda. 
Somewhere  from  the  depths  of  the  house  rose  the 
faint  sound  of  Miss  Drusilla's  whine  to  the  uni- 
verse at  large  regarding  some  apricot  preserves 
which  had  gone  moldy. 

A  memory  had  visualized  itself  before  my 
eyes, —  the  remembrance  of  Miss  Haldayne's 
gray  face  that  morning  as  she  had  raised  it  to 
me  in  the  breakfast-room,  the  eyes  glazed,  the 
pupils  dilated  over  half  the  surface  of  the  iris. 
Art  could  never  have  produced  that  effect;  art 
has  never  yet  caused  skin  to  shrink  with  the  dry, 
gray  mask  of  fear.  I  burst  out  vehemently :  "  I 
don't  believe  it!  There's  some  other  explana- 
tion, there  must  be !  Perhaps  it 's  as  you  said ; 
some  one  may  be  wearing  her  slippers  to  cast 
suspicion  on  her."  I  stopped  abruptly  and  there 
was  a  brief  silence.  Then  I  said  slowly,  "  Miss 
Drusilla  hates  her  sister." 

"  How  could  she  get  into  her  sister's  room 
without  waking  her?  "  very  sensibly  pointed  out 
the  man. 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders.  It  was  as  good  as 
any  other  reply.  Another  long  silence  passed. 
The  sun  had  lost  its  golden  tinge.  There  was 
more  than  a  hint  of  the  coming  trade-winds  in 
the  air.  It  was  the  man  who  broke  the  stillness 
this  time.     He  spoke  slowly,  carefully,  as  one 


THE  FOOTPRINT  IN  THE  FLOUR     183 

who  jumps  from  one  stepping-stone  of  fact  to 
another. 

"It  seems  to  me,  Miss  Belmont,  that  we're 
going  at  this  wrong.  We  're  letting  a  lot  of  un- 
related and  apparently  inexplicable  incidents 
confuse  us.  We  're  trying  to  deduct  a  reason 
from  its  results.  Deduction  is  futile  and  foolish ; 
what  we  should  try  is  elimination.  Trace  down 
these  smaller  puzzles,  eliminate  them  one  by  one 
until  we  reach  the  main  thread  of  the  mystery. 
To  take  a  bird's-eye  view,  as  we  've  been  doing, 
is  to  go  crazy !  How  can  we  guess  at  the  connec- 
tion between  Miss  Drusilla's  hatred  and  the 
Chinaman  hidden  in  the  gully?  between  the 
death-howl  and  the  secret  door?  between  the  mys- 
terious notes  and  the  flour  on  Aunt  Eliza's  slip- 
per? Yet  there  must  be  some  connection;  every 
mystery  has  a  key.  We  have  to  find  that  key. 
Take  Hoang,  for  instance.  He's  up  to  some 
deviltry!  I  don't  trust  him.  He  knows  a  lot 
we  'd  like  to  know,  but  there 's  no  sense  trying  to 
worm  it  out  of  him.  No,  I  'm  afraid  that  we  '11 
have  to  mark  Hoang  with  an  '  X '  and  place 
him  with  the  other  unknown  quantities. 

"  Miss  Drusilla?  Hum-m-m.  I  don't  like  the 
idea  of  our  giving  her  our  confidence.  I  'm  sorry, 
but  my  dear  aunt  strikes  me  as  a  doodle- wit,  Miss 
Belmont.  This  is  your  mystery  and  mine  and 
it 's  up  to  us  to  unravel  it.    I  wish  Florence  had 


184         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

given  me  some  inkling,  but  she  probably  did  n't 
know,  herself.  There  's  the  most  maddening  air 
of  vagueness  hanging  about  this  house  V9  he 
burst  out. 

There  was  another  silence  during  which  the 
surf  had  things  all  to  itself.  My  stillness  ap- 
peared to  nettle  the  young  man.  Suddenly  he 
shoved  the  dark  glasses  up  on  his  forehead  and 
turned  the  battery  of  the  hazel  eyes  on  my  face. 
"  Say  something !  "  he  commanded  irritably. 

I  smothered  a  smile,  then  as  quickly  grew 
grave. 

"  Elimination  seems  the  sanest  way,  as  you 
suggest.  Let 's  start  on  the  most  concrete  mys- 
tery we  have.  It  might  act  as  a  key  to  the  rest," 
I  added  slowly.  "  Let 's  find  out  what 's  in  the 
secret  room." 

"  Excellent !  "  The  pseudo  invalid  forgot  his 
role  and  gave  his  legs  an  excited  hitch.  "At 
least  that  will  lay  one  wild  surmise  at  rest.  Now 
when  — " 

"  I  can  slip  down  there  sometime  when  Miss 
Drusilla  ?s  lying  down  and  Miss  Haldayne  's  busy 
in  the  kitchen.  I  hate  to  try  while  she  ?s  in  the 
house,  but  we  have  to  take  some  risk.  Perhaps 
this  afternoon  or  to-morrow — " 

"  Nothing  doing !  "  He  ripped  it  out  curtly. 
"  I  ?m  not  going  to  have  you  fooling  around  that 
darned  room  alone." 


THE  FOOTPRINT  IN  THE  FLOUR     185 

My  heart  leaped  at  the  authoritative  tone,  but 
I  managed  a  scornful  laugh.  "  That  's  nonsense, 
nothing  's  going  to  bite  me." 

"  I  ?m  not  so  sure.  Joan's  description  has 
rather  unpleasantly  stirred  my  imagination.  If 
there  are  any  '  shiny  faces '  to  be  encountered, 
Miss  Belmont,  I  want  to  be  in  front  of  you  with 
an  automatic." 

"  Joan  's  probably  drawing  on  her  inventive 
powers,"  I  scoffed  to  offset  the  pink  I  could  feel 
rising  in  my  face. 

"  Joan  did  n't  invent  the  Chinaman  up  the 
gully,  nor  the  pistol  shot  and  the  howl  in  the 
night,"  the  man  retorted  earnestly.  "  There  is 
danger  in  this  house,  Miss  Belmont.  Promise 
me  you  won't  attempt  it  alone." 

"  I  '11  promise,  though  it 's  silly.  You  act  as 
though  we  ' d  find  some  terrible  solution,  as  Jane 
Eyre  did,  for  instance.  I  hardly  see  how  that  is 
possible  unless  you  choose  to  pose  as  Mr,  Roches- 
ter and  have  a  wife  hidden  behind  the  scenery." 
I  tried  to  be  superciliously  amused,  though  his 
positive  tone  was  a  little  upsetting. 

"  I  have  n't  any  wife  —  yet,"  he  returned  dar- 
ingly, "  so  we  '11  have  to  dismiss  that  theory,  but 
I  '11  tell  you  frankly,  Miss  Belmont,  that  room 
has  me  worried.  Look  here:  I  can't  risk  sneak- 
ing about  the  house  in  the  daytime  because  of 
this  confounded  disguise,  but  at  night,  when  the 


186         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

others  are  in  bed  —  Miss  Belmont,  to-night! 
Shall  we  get  into  that  room  to-night?  " 

All  my  lassitude  had  disappeared  now.  I 
knew  the  spirit  of  adventure  shared.  I  could 
feel  my  cheeks  blazing,  felt  that  my  eyes  were 
burning  to  match  the  excitement  of  his  own. 
But  I  managed  to  speak  skeptically:  "How? 
The  door  's  locked." 

"  You  don't  really  suppose  I  came  down  here 
without  a  skeleton  key?  If  it 's  like  the  locks  on 
the  bedroom  doors  Joan  could  open  it  with  a  hair- 
pin. Now  then,  every  one's  in  bed  by  ten  —  by 
eleven,  at  the  latest.  WTe  '11  wait  until  eleven- 
thirty  to  make  sure.  Half-past  eleven,  then 
count  to  five  hundred  for  luck !  We  '11  meet  at 
the  head  of  the  stairs  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
hall.  Or  maybe  it  will  be  safer  for  you  not  to 
come.     I  can  carry  it  through  alone  — " 

"  Well,  I  like  that !  When  I  ?ve  been  waiting 
all  this  time  — "  I  was  beginning  indignantly 
when  his  hand  suddenly  flashed  up  and  jerked  the 
dark  glasses  to  their  proper  position  again. 

I  wheeled  on  the  instant.  Hoang  stood  not  far 
behind  us.  In  his  usual  kitty-catting  way  he 
had  stepped  to  the  veranda  through  the  opened 
French  window  and  approached  us  from  the  rear. 
His  eyes  were  obsequiously  fastened  on  the 
ground ;  he  appeared  not  to  have  seen  those  tell- 
tale glasses  shoved  high  on  George  Rogers's  fore- 


THE  FOOTPRINT  IN  THE  FLOUR     187 

head,  but  my  heart  had  turned  icy.  There  was 
an  edge  to  my  voice  when  I  asked  him  why  he 
was  there. 

Hoang's  ears  were  sharp,  this  I  knew.  If  he 
had  just  approached  he  had  probably  been  un- 
able to  glean  a  word,  but  —  how  long  had  he 
been  standing  there,  unsuspected  by  us? 

The  narrow  eyes  rose  slowly  to  mine. 
Through  their  almost  stupid  docility  I  thought  I 
glimpsed  a  mocking  devil ;  a  brazen,  defiant  devil. 

"Missy  Haldayne,  she  say  come,  help  fix  'em 
skirt.     She  down  in  sitting-room." 

It  was  true.  A  few  days  before  I  had  promised 
Miss  Haldayne  to  help  her  hang  a  skirt  that  af- 
ternoon —  a  process  by  no  means  as  bloodthirsty 
as  it  sounds.  There  was  nothing  for  it  save  to 
rise  and  follow  the  soft-stepping  Celestial  down 
the  porch.  Yet  as  he  turned  his  back  my  hand 
was  caught  and  held  by  strong  fingers  for  a  brief 
moment.  Even  the  dark  glasses  could  not  hide 
the  anxiety  of  hazel  eyes  that  signaled,  "  Care- 
ful !"  while  the  silent  lips  framed,  "  Remember !  " 


CHAPTEK  XIII 

IN  THE   NIGHT 

TO  my  guilty  fancy  the  old  clock  in  the  sit- 
ting-room appeared  to  strike  eleven-thirty 
with  malevolent  clearness.  There  was  a  tinge 
of  alarm  to  its  clamor;  each  cog-wheel  seemed 
hysterically  insisting  that  the  household  awake 
and  give  its  attention.  It  was  more  a  clarion 
call  to  arms  than  an  announcement  of  the  hour 
of  rest  for  Dune  House. 

For  perhaps  two  minutes  I  stood  in  the  dark, 
resting  my  forehead  against  the  door-jamb ;  then 
with  painful  care  I  slowly  turned  the  knob  and 
let  myself  out  into  the  hall. 

The  moon  was  honoring  us  with  her  presence 
that  night.  White  pools  of  light  lay  in  the  hol- 
lowed scoop  of  the  stairs  and  trembled  on  the 
worn  floor  boards.  Through  the  far  window  I 
could  see  the  dunes  stretching  away  intermi- 
nably, blue-white  billows,  under  the  unwinking 
orb.  This,  however,  was  in  the  front  of  the 
house.     The  back  of  the  hall,  the  stairs  toward 

188 


IN  THE  NIGHT  189 

which  I  was  stealing  my  way,  were  draped  in 
plushy  blackness. 

It  seemed  an  unending  time  that  I  was  grop- 
ing my  way  blindly  along  the  passage.  My 
tongue  was  cleaving  dryly  to  the  roof  of  my 
mouth ;  each  nerve  was  stretched  painfully  tense. 

"  Ann !  " 

I  more  sensed  than  heard  the  soft  whisper  in 
the  darkness.  My  outstretched  fingers  brushed 
something  tangible,  then  they  were  clasped  in 
George  Kogers's  firm  grip.  I  had  reached  the 
head  of  the  stairs. 

Without  communication  other  than  that  warm 
clasp,  we  continued  to  steal  down  the  stairs,  the 
man  first,  automatic  drawn;  I  trailing  behind 
him  with  the  electric  torch  he  had  handed  me, 
tightly  clutched  in  my  cold,  dry  hand. 

We  passed  the  gray  rectangle  of  window, 
stooping  low  to  avoid  presenting  a  silhouette, 
lest  sleepless  eyes  be  watching  from  the  upper 
hall;  made  the  sharp  turn,  and  felt  our  way  to 
the  lower  landing.  Here  the  darkness  seemed 
so  thick  as  to  be  almost  tangible.  It  lay  upon 
us  an  unsupportable  weight;  it  wTas  brooding, 
uncanny,  a  menace  as  much  as  a  protection. 
Only  our  outstretched  finger-tips  told  when  we 
had  reached  the  door  of  the  secret  room.  George 
Kogers  was  in  advance.  I  stopped  by  bumping 
into  him. 


190         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

For  a  breathless  moment  we  waited,  heads 
atilt  toward  the  stairs  overhead,  lest  a  creak  of 
our  progress  had  betrayed  us.  Unknown  to  the 
man  one  hand  of  mine  remained  outstretched, 
lightly  touching  his  sleeve.  The  rough  feel  of 
the  cloth  was  indescribably  comforting  when 
taken  in  connection  with  the  fact  that  but  a  few 
inches  of  wood  separated  us  from  what  Joan  had 
disturbingly  described  as  "  something  all  shiny, 
like  a  terrible  face." 

The  silence  was  so  deep  that  it  rang  in  our 
ears.  The  tide  was  out;  the  surge  of  the  water 
came  from  very  far  away,  we  might  have  been 
miles  within  the  earth  so  far  as  other  evidence  to 
the  senses  was  concerned. 

After  what  seemed  an  eternity  I  felt  the  man 
stir ;  felt  his  right  hand  move  toward  his  pocket ; 
the  other,  I  knew,  still  held  the  automatic. 

"  The  light,"  he  breathed  close  to  my  face. 

The  beam  which  leaped  out  at  the  pressure  of 
my  finger  was  uncomfortably  bright.  As  it 
splashed  across  the  dark  shiny  wood  of  the  door 
and  came  to  a  wavering  focus  on  the  keyhole  I 
had  the  unpleasant  conviction  that  it  attracted 
myriads  of  unseen  eyes  from  the  dark  to  watch 
us.  George  Rogers's  hand  came  within  its  arc, 
grasping  the  skeleton  key,  moved  toward  the 
knob;  then  abruptly  the  light  winked  out  and 


IN  THE  NIGHT  191 

my  other  hand  had  shot  to  his  wrist  and  clung 
there  in  silent  agony. 

"  What?  "  came  his  startled  whisper. 

For  the  moment  I  did  not  answer,  just  clung 
frantically,  eyes  and  ears  painfully  alert  in  the 
blackness.  I  had  to  moisten  my  lips  first  when 
I  did  reply,  my  words  breathed  close  to  his  ear : 

"  I  don't  know  —  for  sure.  I  did  n't  hear  any- 
thing but  —  I  seemed  to  feel  it !     Hark !  " 

Again  that  paralyzing  interval  of  silence  dur- 
ing which  we  remained  motionless,  every  sense 
strained.  Five  minutes  perhaps  went  by  in  this 
maddening  inactivity;  five  centuries  of  heart- 
breaking uncertainty  before  I  drew  a  long,  quiv- 
ering breath  and  my  hand  dropped  from  that 
warm,  pulsing  wrist. 

"  It  was  nothing,  I  guess." 

I  could  feel  by  the  sway  of  his  body  that  the 
man  had  turned  his  head,  that  it  was  inclined, 
listening,  to  the  door  behind  us.  Beyond  that 
door  there  was  no  sound.  The  hall  stretched 
grimly  in  front  of  us. 

The  light  flashed  into  being  once  more  and 
directed  itself  to  the  keyhole.  The  skeleton  key 
sought  for  the  lock,  found  it,  then  was  as 
abruptly  withdrawn  with  a  little  rasp  that 
seemed  as  though  it  filed  across  my  raw  nerves. 
Again  the  light  winked  out,  and  this  time  there 


192         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

was  no  exclamation.  We  had  both  heard  it, — 
an  alien  noise  somewhere  up  there  in  the  front  of 
the  house.  An  unexplainable  noise;  a  noise 
which  we  knew  was  never  created  by  wind  or 
wave. 

I  found  my  knuckles  painfully  crushed  in 
George  Rogers's  fingers,  felt  my  damp  hair  stir 
with  his  breath  as  he  whispered :  "  There  's  some- 
one up  in  the  front,  I  think.  I  'm  going  to  have 
a  look." 

With  the  last  word  he  began  cautiously  feeling 
his  way  forward;  I  promptly  imitating  him,  my 
leashed  breath  not  knowing  whether  to  come  out 
in  a  gasp  or  be  swallowed  in  a  gulp. 

Around  the  bend  in  the  wall  the  coal-shoot 
darkness  surrendered  to  the  advance-guard  of  the 
moonlight.  Things  took  on  a  gray  tinge.  I 
could  see  the  dark  bulk  of  the  man  just  before 
me. 

We  stopped  twice  to  listen,  flattened  there 
against  the  wall,  eyes  strained  to  the  menace 
ahead,  ears  sharpened  by  fear,  stockinged  feet 
poised  to  flee  whichever  way  alarm  gave  the  sig- 
nal. Each  time  the  silence  reassured  us  and  we 
resumed  our  stealthy  stalking  through  the  gray- 
ness.  We  passed  the  dark  cavern  of  the  little 
sitting-room  with  its  door  ajar.  The  thin  shaft 
of  an  investigating  moonbeam  suddenly  thrust 
itself  through  the  parlor  entrance  to  tremble  on 


IN  THE  NIGHT  193 

the  edge  of  the  lowest  hall  stair.  I  became 
aware  of  an  acute  surprise  that  the  door  should 
be  open  at  all.  Save  on  cleaning  days  it  was 
kept  religiously  closed,  a  New  England  custom 
transplanted  bodily  to  this  western  dwelling. 
Then  my  heart  contracted  painfully  and  once 
more  my  knuckles  were  crushed  in  the  man's 
hand.  A  slight  sound  came  from  the  front  room, 
a  brushing  sound,  as  of  a  body  passing  close  to 
the  wall,  the  thin  shaft  of  moonlight  was  blotted 
out  for  the  moment  by  a  shadow. 

I  was  grateful  then  for  the  strong  pressure  of 
that  hand,  for  my  head  reeled,  a  cold  hand  rudely 
gripped  my  heart.  During  the  next  few  seconds 
the  moon-dappled  hall  swam  before  my  sick  eyes ; 
then  with  a  gallant  roar  the  blood  pounded  back 
and  I  was  cognizant  of  my  surroundings. 

It  was  again  ominously  still  in  the  front  room. 
After  what  seemed  an  eon  of  inactivity  I  felt  my 
hand  released  with  a  reassuring  squeeze  and  my 
guide  moved  forward.  My  feet  automatically 
did  the  same  and  moving  silently  as  shadows 
among  shadows  we  came  abreast  of  the  open  par- 
lor door. 

It  was  very  dark  in  there,  and  very  still.  Our 
eyes,  used  by  now  to  the  thin  grayness  of  the  hall, 
could  make  nothing  of  the  gloom,  beyond  where 
it  was  cleft  by  that  fitful  beam  of  moonlight,  but 
this  we  followed  up  to  its  source.     It  sloped 


194         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

between  the  dark  velvet  window  hangings  pulled 
ajar!  It  sloped  over  and  around  a  black  bulk 
half  draped  by  the  curtain  on  each  side  —  some 
one  standing  back  toward  us,  I  felt  instinctively, 
his  face  flattened  to  the  glass  of  the  locked  win- 
dow where  it  looked  over  the  moon-flooded  sand- 
dunes. 

The  silence  was  leaden ;  I  found  that  I  had  for- 
gotten to  breathe.  I  feared  that  the  concentra- 
tion of  our  gaze  would  wheel  the  peering  figure 
to  the  spot  where  we  stood,  tense,  against  the 
hall,  yet  my  eyes  were  powerless  to  tear  them- 
selves away.  Then  the  beam  of  moonlight  broad- 
ened; the  figure  had  turned;  the  next  moment 
the  white  light  blinked  out  in  blackness  as  the 
curtains  swung  together  and  through  the  inky 
darkness  of  the  parlor  we  could  hear  the  soft 
brush  of  feet  on  the  carpet. 

That  fearful  inertia  would  have  chained  me 
there  to  be  discovered  had  not  my  arm  been  sud- 
denly gripped  in  a  warm  clasp.  I  was  half  car- 
ried into  the  ambush  of  the  thick  shadows  far- 
ther up  the  hall,  swept  along  and  held  in  the  firm 
circle  of  an  arm  which  was  all  that  saved  my 
cowardly  knees  from  giving  way  beneath  me. 

The  soft  scuffling  came  louder  to  our  ears,  a 
board  squeaked  in  the  hall  just  outside  the  par- 
lor. We  could  barely  make  the  figure  out, —  a 
grayness  hardly  darker  than  the  grayness  which 


IN  THE  NIGHT  195 

surrounded  it.  Nothing  in  the  whole  dim  scene 
appeared  to  have  solidity ;  it  was  all  a  sea  of  half- 
light,  and  the  sound  of  its  surf  was  the  ringing 
of  silence  in  our  ears. 

A  small  eternity  elapsed,  then  from  behind 
came  a  low,  menacing  whir.  I  started  in  that 
protecting  embrace,  but  I  did  not  scream  and 
the  next  moment  a  hot  wave  of  relief  overflooded 
the  back  of  my  neck,  leaving  me  weak.  The 
grandfather  clock  in  the  sitting-room  was  strik- 
ing twelve. 

The  long  strokes  died  out  in  the  upper  reaches 
of  the  house,  the  cog-wheels  slipped  back  into 
place  with  a  little  jar,  silence  closed  over  our 
heads  again;  then  up  there  in  the  shadows  the 
gray  figure  stirred.  Came  the  soft  scuffling  once 
more,  a  stair  creaked  under  a  weight,  the 
prowler,  whoever  it  was,  was  about  to  make  a 
nocturnal  visit  to  the  upper  hall. 

I  was  both  relieved  and  chilled.  The  arm 
about  me  loosened  a  trifle  and  we  moved  forward 
with  one  accord.  The  window  in  the  bend  of 
the  stairs  would  reveal  the  intruder  even  as  it 
had  once  revealed  the  man  who  now  stood  my 
ally.  The  moonlight  lay  in  a  white  pool  on  the 
half-way  landing,  it  glanced  in  high  lights  off 
the  spindle-shaped  balusters  and  painted  the 
dark  duplicate  on  the  lighted  square  of  plaster 
wall   opposite.     A  portion  of  the  lighted  rec- 


196        WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

tangle  was  blotted  out ;  the  figure  toiling  upward 
paused,  back  to  us,  and  suddenly  flattened  its 
face  against  the  hall  window,  as  it  had  against 
the  one  in  the  parlor. 

It  was  a  woman.  The  disheveled  hair  stood 
out  in  wild  silhouette  about  her  head.  The 
body  was  swathed  in  the  voluminous  folds  of 
some  heavy  garment.  I  felt  that  I  gasped.  As 
if  that  light  sound  had  penetrated  to  her,  the 
figure  suddenly  wheeled  and  remained  tensely 
poised.  The  moon  sharply  illuminated  that  lis- 
tening face.  The  man  beside  me  stiffened  and 
I  gasped  again.  It  was  Miss  Haldayne.  But 
what  a  Miss  Haldayne!  Between  the  rumpled 
twists  of  her  iron-gray  hair  her  face  peered, 
harshly  outlined;  the  black  eyes  were  wild  and 
watchful. 

For  perhaps  a  moment  the  three  of  us  held 
the  tableau.  The  man  and  I  were  sick  with 
dread  lest  those  wild  black  eyes  would  pierce 
the  shadows  of  the  lower  hall  and  see  the  white 
patches  of  our  faces  against  the  plaster  wall. 
The  strained  expression  gradually  faded, —  we 
could  see  this,  even  in  the  moon's  uncertain  light, 
—  then  a  change  more  terrible,  more  inexplicable 
passed  over  it.  The  familiar  features  took  on  an 
expression  I  had  never  seen  them  wear.  They  lit 
as  though  shining  by  the  light  of  a  wild  inward 
glee,  an  almost  ferocious  cunning.     Gone  was  the 


IN  THE  NIGHT  197 

iron  self-control,  the  unconscious  appeal,  or  — 
the  expression  I  liked  best  to  see  them  assume  — 
the  stamp  of  grim  humor  I  had  known.  The 
same  features,  but  how  changed!  It  was  as 
though  some  diabolical  overgrown  child  had 
stolen  the  mask  of  Eliza  Haldayne's  plain,  effi- 
cient face. 

The  next  minute  the  moonlit  area  was  empty, 
the  figure  had  been  swallowed  up  in  the  black- 
ness of  the  upper  stairs.  Terrified  surprise  kept 
us  chained  in  the  shadows.  We  heard  the  creak 
of  the  board  we  had  learned  to  avoid  in  the  upper 
hall  and  then,  full  of  meaning  to  our  overstrained 
ears,  the  soft  introduction  of  a  key  in  a  door 
lock,  recognized  more  by  our  nerves  than  by  our 
hearing. 

"  God !  "  I  heard  the  whisper  of  the  man  be- 
side me  and  he  tightened  his  clasp.  I  found  that 
I  had  been  drawn  into  his  arms,,  that  the  physi- 
cal contact  was  full  of  unutterable  relief,  that  I 
clung  to  him  frantically,  my  hair  pressed  against 
his  cheek  while  he  patted  one  shoulder  reassur- 
ingly with  his  free  hand.  Nor  was  I  at  all 
daunted  by  the  discovery.  ConvenJ#  "  s  had  no 
place  that  night  in  that  dark  house  with  its  nerve- 
racking  mysteries. 

"  What  does  it  mean?  What  can  it  mean?  " 
I  demanded  in  a  frightened  whisper.  I  was 
dazed  by  what  I  had  just  seen;  fancy  was  darting 


198        WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

hither  and  thither  in  a  frenzied  attempt  to  find 
some  explanation.  In  that  brief  space  I  had 
found  time  to  consider  the  wild  theory  that  the 
place  harbored  a  fantastic  twin  sister  of  the 
woman.  But  reason  rejected  this.  Despite  the 
absence  of  the  usual  self-control,  despite  the 
abandon  in  the  features  of  the  disheveled  figure, 
it  was  undoubtedly  Miss  Haldayne  herself. 

The  man's  whisper  was  grim  when  it  reached 
my  ears.  "  I  don't  know,  but  by  God  I  'm  going 
to,  to-morrow !  I  'm  through  with  mystery. 
There  ?s  going  to  be  a  thorough  explanation." 

"  From  Miss  Haldayne?  " 

I  felt  his  nod  in  the  dark. 

A  long  moment  passed  while  I  could  almost  see 
the  wild  surmises  passing  through  our  minds. 
I  finally  drew  a  long,  quivering  breath.  "  I  can't 
—  seem  to  believe  it !  "     My  whisper  broke. 

His  own  came  very  warm  and  close  to  my 
ear.  "Poor  little  girl!  You  poor  little  tired, 
spunky  thing !  This  confounded  house  has  worn 
you  out." 

This  brought  me  to  the  realization  that  he  was 
still  patting  my  shoulder,  while  his  other  arm 
pressed  me  tightly  to  him.  Common  sense  began 
to  dictate  and  I  drew  away  with  as  much  dig- 
nity as  I  could  summon  with  shaking  fingers 
tucking  up  my  hair. 

"  I  don't  want  to  explore  the  secret  room  to- 


IN  THE  NIGHT  199 

night ! "  I  quavered  like  a  scared  child,  as  Joan 
herself  might  have  done.  "  I  want  to  go  to 
bed!" 

And  indeed  the  one  place  I  fervently  desired  to 
be  was  in  my  own  room,  the  bedclothes  securely 
pulled  over  my  head. 

"  Ann  —  listen  —  dear  — " 

His  whisper  was  guarded  but  intense.  It 
brought  a  warm  glow  to  my  cold  cheeks,  not  un- 
pleasant after  the  chill  of  fear  they  had  known, 
but  I  had  had  enough  of  emotion  that  night. 
Noiselessly  I  broke  from  his  clasp  and  darted  to 
the  stairs.  My  foot  was  on  the  first  one  when  I 
stopped,  frozen  into  immobility,  my  face  tilted 
up  to  the  shadows.  On  to  the  patch  of  moonlit 
landing  slid  the  figure  of  Hoang,  chin  outthrust 
as  he  peered  down  toward  me  in  the  gloom. 

I  know  now  that  it  could  only  have  been  a  few 
seconds  that  I  stood  there,  feeling  the  blood  drain 
from  my  almost  stilled  heart,  but  it  seemed  then 
to  be  an  eternity  of  torture.  It  was  long  enough, 
in  all  events,  for  several  things  to  flash  into  my 
over-alert  brain.  Had  Hoang  heard  the  sound 
of  our  voices?  Had  it  been  that  which  disturbed 
him?  It  was  hardly  plausible,  we  had  barely 
heard  them  ourselves,  close  as  we  had  stood. 
Was  he  prowling  about  the  house  on  uncanny 
business  of  his  own,  or  was  our  venturesome  ex- 
pedition   known   to   him?    If  it    was,    George 


200         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

Rogers's  disguise  was  completely  pierced;  still, 
on  the  other  hand,  it  might  have  been  that  creak 
upstairs  which  had  wakened  him;  some  slight 
noise  of  Miss  Haldayne's  passing.  Then  our  best 
plan  was  to  hide. 

I  had  placed  one  backthrust  arm  against 
George  Rogers's  chest  and  by  his  quick  retreat  to 
the  shadows  near  the  sitting-room  door  I  knew 
that  he  had  leaped  to  the  same  conclusion. 
Praying  that  my  moving  figure  might  not  be  con- 
spicuous in  the  surrounding  grayness,  I  was  fol- 
lowing suit,  when  my  heart  leaped  painfully  to 
action  and  my  knees  threatened  to  give  way  be- 
neath me. 

The  Chinaman  bent  still  farther  forward,  I  saw 
the  moonlight  glitter  on  the  whites  of  his  eyes, 
narrowed  to  the  merest  slips  in  an  effort  to  con- 
centrate. His  voice  floated  sibilantly  down 
through  the  shadows : 

"  Missy  Belmont  —  you  there?  " 

Amid  the  sick  reeling  which  the  moon-splashed 
hall  took  on,  I  tried  to  keep  my  head.  I  could 
feel  the  man  behind  me  gather  himself  as  though 
for  a  spring  and  I  gave  him  my  most  vicious 
backward  thrust.  Time  enough  to  spring  to  the 
rescue  when  a  rescue  was  needed.  Until  then, 
the  sight  of  a  paralytic  man  walking  required 
more  explanations  than  we  felt  inclined  to  make. 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  gained  by  con- 


IN  THE  NIGHT  201 

cealment.  Hoang  must  have  been  very  sure  of 
me  to  call  my  name.  I  answered  in  a  voice  which 
wabbled  painfully:  "Yes,  Hoang.  Did  I  wake 
you?" 

I  stepped  forward  boldly  as  I  said  this,  aware 
that  the  man  in  the  shadows  behind  me  was  an 
unwilling  follower  of  my  silent  advice.  I  could 
picture  him,  tensely  alert,  the  automatic  trained 
on  the  unwitting  figure  of  the  Oriental  on  the 
landing. 

I  advanced  up  the  stairs  boldly  enough,  my 
outward  demeanor  giving  no  inkling  of  my  shak- 
ing limbs;  but  I  was  rather  at  a  loss  when  the 
Chinaman  remained  planted  squarely  across  my 
path.  His  face  and  neck  projected  almost  bel- 
ligerently from  the  collar  of  a  hastily  flung-on 
coat.  The  black,  sharp  shadows  made  his  cheek- 
bones appear  abnormally  high;  his  eyes  were 
glittering  slits  opening  pocket-like  in  the  flat 
face. 

Their  cold  venom  made  me  pause  quite  as 
much  as  his  form  blocking  my  way.  They  held 
my  own  with  a  terrible  steadiness,  as  on  that 
morning  in  the  breakfast-room.  I  felt  my  hands 
and  feet  grow  cold;  there  was  an  unpleasant 
singing  in  my  ears  as  though  I  had  taken  too 
much  quinine;  the  darkness  seemed  closing  in 
about  me  with  a  roar. 

I  tore  my  mind  away  from  the  control  of  his 


202         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

as  if  by  a  physical  effort,  felt  my  thoughts 
hurl  themselves  back  to  the  comforting  realiza- 
tion of  George  Kogers  standing  behind  me  with 
a  blessedly  real  automatic.  With  this  a  grateful 
burst  of  warmth  came  over  my  chilled  body ;  my 
heart  received  a  new  gush  of  courage. 

As  though  sensing  the  mental  resistance  the 
Chinaman  capitulated.  He  spoke  in  a  dull, 
sulky  voice  : 

"  Why  you  come  down  here?  " 

"  I  heard  a  shutter  creaking  and  I  could  n't 
sleep,"  I  lied  promptly.  The  explanation  was 
clumsy,  but  the  only  one  which  came  readily. 

Again  the  black  venom  of  that  gaze  held  me. 
There  had  been  no  wind  to-night.  His  voice  was 
heavy  with  meaning  when  it  finally  came,  omi- 
nously slow. 

"  I  think  no  good  to  walk  at  night.  Once  I 
tell  you.  Now  I  tell  again.  You  stay  in  your 
room,  Missy  Belmont,  I  think  so." 

He  made  a  sudden  quick  movement  and  my 
heart  fainted  within  me;  but  it  had  only  been  to 
move  aside  on  the  landing  to  allow  me  a  grudging 
foot  or  two  in  which  to  pass.  I  could  feel  the 
hatred  of  his  stare  as  I  did  so,  his  head  turning 
slowly  to  keep  me  ever  in  full  view.  There  was 
a  heart-sickening  moment  while  my  skirts 
brushed  his  rigid  body,  then  I  continued  on  up 
the  stairs,  my  back  prickling  with  the  disturbing 


IN  THE  NIGHT  203 

knowledge  that  he  had  turned  and  was  silently 
following  a  few  paces  behind. 

No  further  word  was  spoken;  we  made  our 
noiseless  way  up  the  hall.  At  his  own  door 
Hoang  paused,  but  I  knew  that  he  was  standing 
rigid  in  the  dark  hall  waiting  for  the  click  which 
would  tell  that  I  had  entered  my  room. 

The  knob  did  click  as  I  released  it  and  turned 
the  key  in  the  lock,  but  I  remained  just  on  the 
other  side  in  the  same  position,  my  cold  wet  fore- 
head pressed  against  the  crack,  my  ears  strained 
to  catch  something  other  than  the  frightened 
beating  of  my  own  heart. 

It  was  long  after  —  very  long  after,  indeed,  it 
seemed  —  that  I  caught  the  sound  for  which  I 
had  been  waiting.  The  dream  of  a  hand  brushed 
across  the  panels  of  the  door,  there  was  the 
faint  release  of  a  lock  in  the  night.  George 
Eogers  had  reached  his  own  room  in  safety. 
And  only  then  did  I  relax. 


CHAPTEE  XIV 

MORE  THINGS   IN  HEAVEN   AND   EARTH  — 

1  AWOKE  to  a  strange  feeling  of  unrest,  to  an 
imperative  need  for  haste,  for  which  I  was  at 
a  loss  to  account.  I  lay  stupidly  blinking  at  the 
plaster  ceiling  until  a  door  banged  sharply  down- 
stairs. That  told  of  some  one 's  presence, 
though  by  the  light  of  the  fog-filled  square  of 
window  I  judged  it  to  be  much  earlier  than  my 
usual  rising-hour. 

That  curious  sense  of  alertness  continued. 
The  old  house  seemed  uneasy;  the  very  air  was 
electric,  pregnant  with  possibilities.  The  cor- 
ners of  the  room  seemed  to  crowd  toward  the 
center.  I  felt  nervous,  smothered.  Scarcely 
knowing  why,  I  slipped  to  the  floor  and  ran  to  the 
window.  The  next  moment  found  me,  face  and 
palms  flattened  against  the  cold  wire  mesh, 
strained  eyes  staring  ahead  to  the  exotic  growth 
sprung  by  our  dreary  little  beach  in  the  night. 

The  fog  was  lifting,  dissipated  by  the  dawn 
wind.  On  all  sides  the  water  appeared  to  be 
steaming,    and    amid    the    fog    wraiths,    now 

204 


HEAVEN  AND  EARTH  205 

shrouded  by  their  ragged  wisps,  now  half  re- 
vealed as  a  current  of  air  lifted  them  for  a  brief 
moment,  rocked  the  strangest  craft  that  had  ever 
nosed  its  way  into  the  dismal  little  bay. 

Time  might  have  turned  back  four  centuries. 
The  ship  was  not  unlike  an  old  Spanish  galleon, 
jutting  high  fore  and  aft.  Her  one  mast  had  a 
crazy  tilt  forward ;  an  enormous  oar  extended  out 
at  one  side,  like  the  lame  flipper  of  a  lobster.  So 
high  she  rode  that  one  looked  with  each  oily 
swell  to  see  her  turn  turtle,  but  always  she 
righted  herself,  like  a  piece  of  cork  bobbing  on 
the  surface  of  the  water.  She  did  this  now, 
swinging  half  about  with  the  turn  of  the  tide. 
The  growing  wind  blew  the  last  obscuring  mesh 
of  fog  clear  and  on  each  side  of  her  bow  I  saw 
painted  an  enormous  red  eye,  glaring  inland. 

The  sloping  beach  had  sprung  a  new  growth 
amid  its  jelly-fish  and  brown  kelp.  It  fairly 
swarmed  with  fantastic  creatures, —  brown,  lithe, 
half-naked  figures  scrambling  over  the  dunes  on 
skinny  bare  legs;  squatting  on  their  heels  about 
small  crackling  fires  of  driftwood ;  a  few  standing 
ankle-deep  in  the  little  creek  seeping  through  the 
sand,  as  they  dipped  up  the  water  in  rusty  tins. 
They  raced  like  monkeys  over  the  wet  sand,  seem- 
ingly indifferent  to  the  chill  wind  which  was 
blowing  the  bunch-grass.  Grouped  in  jabbering 
masses,  they  shaded  their  eyes  and  pointed  skinny 


206         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

forefingers  at  the  great  silent  house  staring 
blankly  back  at  them.  From  my  high  vantage- 
point  they  were  unpleasantly  like  a  mass  of  larvae 
squirming  busily  in  the  lap  of  the  dunes.  Their 
shrill  voices  carried  to  me  in  a  high  singsong  on 
the  fitful  gusts  of  wind. 

Never  before  had  I  laid  eyes  on  such  spawn; 
yet  the  high-riding  junk  behind  and  the  shrilly 
flung  voices  served  to  identify  them.  They  were 
Chinese, —  not  the  placid  Han  Ren  with  which 
the  Pacific  coast  of  this  country  has  grown  so 
familiar,  but  a  type  which  was  almost  aboriginal ; 
undersized,  ape-like  beings  with  matted  black 
hair  falling  in  filthy  confusion  beneath  enormous 
basket  hats. 

A  million  wild  conjectures  fought  in  my  dazed 
brain  as  I  pulled  my  clothes  on  with  shaking 
hands.  Were  these  the  mysterious  "  They  "  re- 
ferred to  in  the  threatening  notes?  What  part 
did  Hoang  play  in  this?  Was  it  for  this  ship, 
long  expected,  that  he  had  been  silently  slipping 
downstairs  last  night,  only  to  confront  me  in  the 
hall? 

Not  stopping  to  pin  up  the  hair  flying  in  brown 
confusion  about  my  shoulders,  I  ran  out  into  the 
hall.  Now  indeed  I  heard  the  commotion  which 
had  caused  that  uneasiness  in  my  sleep.  Hurry- 
ing steps  sounded  on  the  bare  boards  of  the  lower 
hail.     Doors    banged,    a    window-shutter    was 


HEAVEN  AND  EAKTH  207 

slammed  in  the  rear  of  the  house  and  its  lock 
screeched  into,  place.  Harry  began  to  cry  and, 
turning  to  enter  the  children's  room,  I  came  face 
to  face  with  George  Rogers,  not  disguised  this 
morning  as  the  paralytic  invalid  but  somehow 
startlingly  tall  seen  upright  for  the  first  time 
in  daylight.  His  eyes  were  innocent  of  dark 
glasses,  his  mouth  was  grim,  amazingly  like  his 
aunt's  in  that  moment. 

He  hurried  down  the  hall  to  me.  "  You  've 
seen  it?  The  junk?  And  those  yellow  vermin 
swarming  over  the  beach.  Ann,  we  're  about  due 
for  that  explanation,  I  think." 

f*  Wait  for  me,  I  must  quiet  the  children."  I 
was  secretly  proud  of  the  calmness  of  my  tone. 

He  was  reassuringly  close  as  I  entered  the 
room.  Harry,  plastered  at  the  window  in  his 
cotton  pajamas,  gulped  down  a  sob  and  joined 
Joan  in  staring  in  round-eyed  wonder  at  the 
amazing  sight  of  their  cousin  walking,  and  with- 
out the  dark  glasses.  For  the  moment  this 
served  completely  to  overshadow  the  disturbing 
sights  of  the  beach  below  the  window. 

I  hustled  the  children  into  their  bath-robes,  for 
the  room  was  cold  with  dawn,  and  gave  them  a 
few  hurried  orders  as  I  did  so. 

"  You  're  not  to  leave  this  room,  neither  you 
nor  Harry;  Joan,  promise  me  that.  We'll  be 
right  downstairs,  your  cousin  and  I,  and  we  '11 


208         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

take  care  of  you  the  first  of  all.  Promise  you  11 
stay  here." 

Between  teeth  that  chattered  with  fright  and 
chill  Joan  promised,  then  quavered :  "  But,  Miss 
Belmont,  why  are  they  there?  They  're  China- 
men, are  n't  they?     Why  do  they  look  so  funny?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  answered  truthfully  enough, 
shaking  small  arms  into  refractory  sleeves. 
"  Maybe  they  just  came  in  to  get  water.  Any- 
way, there  's  nothing  to  be  afraid  of,  you  know." 

Adult  company  had  bolstered  Harry's  martial 
spirit.  "  Ho ! "  he  gave  out  belligerently, 
"I'm  not  afraid,  Joan.  Boys  aren't  afraid, 
never !  "  This  in  the  light  of  the  fat  round  tears 
not  yet  dried  on  his  small  cheeks !  "  If  they 
come  up  here  I  '11  shoot  'em  with  my  pop-gun. 
Bang!" 

We  left  the  small  warrior  and  his  sister,  in 
not  unpleasurable  excitement  watching  our 
weird  visitors  through  a  slit  in  the  shutters,  and 
hurried  down  the  stairs,  those  same  stairs  up 
which  I  had  crept  trembling  a  few  hours  before. 

Midway  of  the  lower  hall  Miss  Haldayne  sud- 
denly swooped  out  of  the  dim  back  parlor  and 
came  flying  toward  us.  The  faint  red  light 
slanting  through  the  side  panels  of  the  front  door 
struck  full  on  her  advancing  figure  and  uncon- 
sciously I  fell  back  a  step.  This  was  the  Miss 
Haldayne  of  the  night  before.    Any  doubt  I  may 


HEAVEN  AND  EARTH  209 

have  harbored  that  it  had  been  her  we  had  seen 
on  the  moonlit  landing  was  dissipated. 

Her  hair,  ever  before  so  rigidly  immaculate, 
stood  out  in  a  stiff  gray  halo  about  her  head,  her 
black  eyes  were  wild  —  more  than  that,  unseeing. 
They  galloped  over  my  companion  without  ap- 
pearing to  register  the  amazing  fact  of  his  walk- 
ing, then  came  back  to  me  like  a  steel  to  the 
magnet.     I  felt  the  absolute  panic  of  the  woman. 

"  They  've  come,  Ann !  The  notes  were  right ; 
they  knew,  Ann !  They  knew !  It  could  n't  be 
hid.     It  called  and  they  came.     Here !  " 

I  recoiled  as  she  suddenly  thrust  a  hand  out 
at  me.     It  held  a  revolver. 

"  Here !  "  she  repeated  with  a  touch  of  the  old 
asperity.  "  There  's  Hoang  and  I  for  the  front 
of  the  house.  You  two  guard  the  side.  The 
back  and  east  ?s  safe  enough  for  a  time,  if  we 
keep  'em  bottled  up  on  the  beach.  Drusilla  's  to 
stay  with  the  children  and  to  keep  out  from  un- 
der my  feet.  She's  always  had  the  soul  of  a 
lizard,  I  despise  her!  Let  her  crawl  to  cover 
now !     Here." 

Again  the  revolver  was  shaken  impatiently, 
this  time  in  the  direction  of  George  Rogers. 

"  One  moment,  Aunt  Eliza,"  the  man's  voice 
came  with  comforting  firmness.  "  We  '11  have 
to  know  what  we  're  fighting  for  before  we  do  it. 
Ann  and  I  have  an  explanation  coming." 


210         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

"  Ha !  "  For  the  first  time  she  appeared  really 
to  see  him.  Her  eyes  stared  glassily  for  a  mo- 
ment, appearing  to  focus  with  difficulty ;  then  she 
gave  a  short  dry  laugh.  "  So  you  can  walk  and 
you  're  not  blind.  That  has  some  meaning,  I 
suppose,  or  else  you  are  a  very  personal  devil. 
What 's  one  more  or  less,  if  they  're  on  our  side? 
It  does  n't  matter  if  you  can  shoot.  Ann 's  here. 
Ann  has  brains !  " 

The  door  of  the  front  parlor  suddenly  burst 
open  and  Hoang  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"Missy  Haldayne,  come  —  look,  look!  They 
come."  His  eyes,  blazing  with  excitement,  wider 
than  I  had  ever  seen  them,  fell  on  our  incongru- 
ous little  group.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had 
seen  Hoang  really  betray  surprise.  As  his  gaze 
took  in  the  supposed  paralytic,  his  jaw  dropped, 
a  stupefied  amazement  froze  his  features. 
Truly  George  Rogers's  disguise  had  been 
effectual. 

Miss  Haldayne,  unheeding  his  stupefaction, 
sprang  to  the  red  panel  of  the  front  door  and 
pressed  her  face  against  it  for  a  moment,  wheel- 
ing almost  immediately. 

"  The  yellow  swine !  "  She  fairly  spat  it  out. 
"  A  truce,  they  want,  do  they !  I  '11  show  them ! 
I  '11  truce  them !  "  She  suddenly  raised  the  pis- 
tol and  darted  to  the  front  room,  aiming  through 
the  window.     George   Rogers,   quite  as   quick, 


HEAVEN  AND  EARTH  211 

gripped  her  wrist  and  the  shot  rang  through  the 
ceiling. 

"  Not  on  a  flag  of  truce !  no,  by  God !  No  mat- 
ter who  carries  it ! "  he  panted  as  the  frantic 
woman  struggled  in  his  arms. 

I  stared  fearfully  through  the  shutters. 

The  scene  on  the  beach  had  changed  with  the- 
atric suddenness.  The  invaders  were  gathered 
in  a  disordered,  ragged  group  between  the  creek 
and  the  house,  yellow  faces  turned  to  us,  blink- 
ing black  eyes  squinting  through  the  growing 
morning  light.  The  chill  wind  blew  their  single 
garments  of  blouse  and  ragged  jeans  about  their 
skinny  bodies  and  swept  the  coarse  black  hair 
in  dirty  mats  from  their  shoulders.  The  only 
comparison  I  could  make  was  to  a  cageful  of 
filthy  and  amazing  apes  huddled  together,  star- 
ing and  chattering  in  half-hysterical  expectation. 

Behind  them,  an  astonishing  back-drop,  the 
incongruous  junk  rode  the  gray  bay,  the  one  red 
eye  visible  as  the  craft  swung  broadside  appear- 
ing to  stare  inland  with  baleful  intent. 

Directly  before  us,  advancing  along  the  sandy 
straggling  path  with  a  slow  steadiness  which 
was  not  entirely  devoid  of  a  fantastic  dignity, 
came  two  figures  holding  aloof  a  splinter  of  bam- 
boo from  the  top  of  which  floated  a  rag  of  dirty 
white.  One  was  dressed  in.  the  same  loose 
blouse  and  jeans  as  adorned  the  jabbering  crew 


212         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

in  the  background.  His  stature  was  perhaps 
half  a  head  taller  than  his  fellows  as  an  average, 
his  head,  innocent  of  the  usual  basket  hat,  showed 
the  coarse  black  hair  growing  close  down  on  the 
sloping  forehead,  where  it  shaded  the  small  blink- 
ing eyes  and  the  out  jutting  lower  portion  of  his 
face.  His  was  the  bearing  of  a  chief,  of  the  cap- 
tain of  the  unsavory  crew  so  intently  watching 
him. 

His  companion's  appearance  told  that  he  held 
a  different  office  of  authority.  His  head  was 
shaved,  the  undiffused  light  causing  his  face  to 
screw  itself  into  a  knot  in  a  supreme  attempt  to 
shade  his  unprotected  eyes.  Instead  of  blouse 
and  jeans  he  wore  a  straight  cotton  robe  of  slate 
gray  which  fell  unbroken  in  line  or  color  to  his 
bare  feet,  encased  in  heavy  rope  sandals.  He 
was  very  old;  the  yellow  skin  was  stretched 
tightly  over  skull  and  cheek-bones ;  the  neck  was 
a  shrunken  bunch  of  shriveled  cords  seemingly 
incapable  of  supporting  the  weight  of  the  head. 
As  the  lips  twisted  away  from  the  yellow  teeth 
in  the  effort  to  concentrate,  the  effect  was  dis- 
turbingly reminiscent  of  a  grinning  death's-head. 

As  the  sound  of  the  shot  rang  out  they  paused 
abruptly,  the  dirty  white  rag  trembling  hesi- 
tantly aloof.  A  shrill  clamor  of  alarm  had 
broken  out  from  the  huddled  groups  watching 
from  the  creek. 


HEAVEN  AND  EARTH  213 

George  Rogers  turned  on  Hoang,  who  had 
swiftly  and  as  silently  as  ever  trailed  us  to  the 
parlor. 

"  Tell  them  to  stop  right  where  they  are,"  he 
snapped.  "  Damn  it !  I  want  to  find  some  solid 
ground  here ! " 

There  was  a  tense  moment  while  the  Oriental 
stared  defiantly  back  at  the  new  master  who  had 
so  determinedly  grasped  the  helm.  Rebellion 
glinted  between  his  narrowed  lids,  but  something 
in  the  white  man's  face  finally  induced  him  to 
turn  sullenly,  fling  back  one  shutter,  and  bark 
out  a  string  of  Cantonese. 

The  effect  of  this  was  to  hold  the  action  outside 
the  window  suspended.  Then  George  Rogers 
turned  grimly  on  his  aunt. 

"  What  do  they  want?  "  he  demanded  shortly. 

She  tore  her  eyes  from  the  scene  before  her 
with  a  visible  effort  and  stared  at  him  vacantly 
for  a  moment  before  his  words  appeared  to  pen- 
etrate to  her  overwrought  brain. 

"  Something  here  in  the  house  that  they  are  n't 
going  to  get ! "  she  replied  harshly  and  with 
something  like  her  old  authority.  "  That  which 
cannot  be  hid !  Huh ! "  Her  laugh  grated. 
"  There  '11  be  none  to  hide  it  from  after  to-day. 
The  one  who  wrote  the  notes  knew  —  whoever  he 
wTas.  Why  are  we  wasting  time? "  She  sud- 
denly burst  out  passionately.     "  Shoot  'em  now, 


214         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

while  we  have  the  chance,  the  yellow  swine !  One 
for  Tai  Loy  and  one  for  the  blind  beggar  of  Han 
T'sin!  Vengeance  is  mine!  It's  come  to  that 
finally,  and  the  mercy  of  the  Lord  will  uphold 
us!" 

He  grasped  her  by  the  broad  shoulders,  did 
George  Rogers,  forcing  the  wild  black  eyes  to 
look  into  his. 

"  We  '11  not  help  you,  Ann  or  I,  until  you  've 
enlightened  us.  They  're  asking  for  a  truce. 
Have  Hoang  call  to  them  that  wTe'll  deal  with 
them  in  an  hour,  when  the  shadow  of  the  house 
reaches  the  base  of  the  great  dune.  In  the 
meantime,  you  tell  us  what  we  're  supposed  to 
fight  for." 

For  a  brief  moment  they  held  the  tableau.  I 
sensed  the  almost  physical  conflict  of  one  tre- 
mendous will  battling  with  the  other.  In  the 
end  it  was  the  defiant  black  eyes  which  fluttered 
from  the  steady  stare  of  the  hazel  ones.  Miss 
Haldayne  moved  toward  the  window,  but  she  did 
not  impress  Hoang  as  interpreter.  Instead,  she 
sent  a  defiant  shout  ringing  to  the  motionless 
two  entrenched  behind  the  improvised  flag  of 
truce.  One  felt  the  hiss  of  hate  through  the 
cadence  of  it,  understood  the  rigidly  uncompro- 
mising attitude  of  those  figures  out  there  on  the 
sand.  Instinctively  my  eyes  sought  the  profile 
of  Hoang  peering  between  the  shutters. 


HEAVEN  AND  EARTH  215 

The  placid  docility  had  rolled  up  from  it  as  a 
curtain  rolls.  With  an  instinctive  recoil  I  saw 
that  despite  the  difference  that  cleanliness  lent, 
despite  the  close-cropped  hair  and  the  immacu- 
late linen  coat  Hoang's  face  was  one  with  those 
of  the  matted  savages  grouped  on  the  beach. 
His  eyes  were  half  shut  over  a  glittering  ferocity, 
his  broad  nostrils  quivered,  his  upper  lip  was 
curled  back  in  a  soft  snarl  as  he  waited  for  the 
reply  of  the  two  below  the  window. 

It  came  finally,  abruptly  dying  out  in  th!e 
surge  of  the  incoming  tide. 

Miss  Haldayne  turned  on  us  with  a  short, 
harsh  laugh. 

"  You  want  an  explanation.  You  '11  get  it. 
Hoang,  stay  here  and  guard  the  house.  Shoot 
any  one  who  puts  a  foot  this  side  of  the  creek. 
Come  on,"  she  flung  over  her  shoulder  at  us. 

In  silence  we  followed  her  from  the  room  and 
down  the  hall.  I  saw  with  a  suddenly  pounding 
heart  that  we  were  headed  for  the  secret  room 
under  the  stairs. 

George  Rogers  reached  back  and  took  my  cold 
hand  in  a  reassuring  clasp  as  she  unlocked  the 
door  and  abruptly  flung  it  open.  It  was  well  he 
did  so,  for  my  sudden  backward  lunge  bade  fair 
to  upset  us  both.  From  the  dark  interior  of  the 
room  a  figure  seemed  to  leap  to  sudden  life  at 
the  inlet  of  light ;  a  bloated,  shining  face  leered 


216        WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

at  us;  two  gleaming  eyes,  red  as  blood,  burned 
through  the  dark;  thin  lips  twisted  in  angry 
frenzy  from  tightly  clenched  white  teeth. 

Even  George  Rogers  took  an  instinctive  back- 
ward step,  then  his  grip  tightened  comfortingly. 

"Brace  up,  Ann,"  he  wThispered  as  he  half 
lifted  me  over  the  threshold.     "  It  is  n't  alive." 

Miss  Haldayne  found  her  way  unerringly 
through  the  gloom  and  unfastened  a  shutter, 
flinging  it  back  against  the  wall  with  a  defiant 
slam. 

The  white  shaft  of  daylight  which  darted  in 
fell  broadly  across  the  thing  in  the  center  of  the 
room  and  it  immediately  crackled  into  a  thou- 
sand rainbow  shooting  prisms  of  light  —  an  idol, 
indescribably  ugly,  indescribably  bejeweled.  A 
short,  squat  body  with  crouching,  deformed  legs 
and  a  horrible  flat,  life-sized  face,  shining  ebony 
and  ivory,  sea-green  jade  and  jade  of  priceless 
white,  literally  incrusted  with  gems  that  flashed 
and  scintillated  wickedly  in  that  honest  shaft  of 
daylight. 

Perhaps  four  feet  high,  it  seemed  to  tower 
above  the  plain  black  walnut  table  on  which  it 
had  been  incongruously  placed.  There  was  noth- 
ing else  in  the  room,  nothing  about  the  cell-like 
white  plaster  walls  to  distract  the  eye  from  its 
hideous  splendor.  The  imagination  was  stunned 
before  the  glare  of  cunning  ferocity  carved  on  the 


HEAVEN  AND  EARTH  217 

ebony  face.  One's  gaze  clung,  helplessly  en- 
tangled in  the  dazzle  of  light.  There  was  none 
of  the  usual  cheap  gilt  and  lacquer  of  the  average 
Chinese  idol  about  this.  The  jade  of  its  tower- 
ing headdress  was  pierced  and  fretted  into  an 
unbelievable  lacework  of  carving  —  jade  whose 
test  is  its  inability  to  be  scratched!  Drapery, 
wrought  of  gold  leaf  and  thousands  of  softly 
gleaming  seed-pearls,  hung  about  the  deformed 
limbs,  the  folds  traced  by  the  delicate  embroidery 
of  gold  inlay.  Twin  fortunes  gleamed  from  the 
inflated  nostrils,  where  two  regal  Oriental  emer- 
alds were  set,  flashing  like  the  depths  of  sunlit 
sea  water.  Two  more  fortunes  gleamed  from 
beneath  the  beetling  brows,  where  a  king's  ran- 
som in  Burma  rubies  was  embedded. 

They  compelled  the  attention,  those  deep-red 
eyes.  In  the  carved  hollow  sockets  they  smol- 
dered with  uncanny  life.  I  felt  my  gaze  drawn 
to  them  to  linger  helplessly,  fascinated  by  the 
steady  glare.  I  was  aware  of  a  fretful  desire  to 
look  away,  to  turn  my  eyes  anywhere  —  any- 
where save  into  those  twin  red  beams.  Deep 
within  me  was  born  panic  when  I  found  I  could 
not  obey  my  will.  My  gaze  plunged  deep  into 
their  glowing  hearts, —  miles  deep,  as  one  looks 
miles  deep  into  a  glowing  coal.  Distances  un- 
dreamed of  came  to  view,  I  reached  one  seeming 
boundary  only  to  plunge  through  its  burning 


H 


218         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

crust  to  another  vista  of  light  held  within.  The 
eyes  began  to  grow,  they  enlarged  and  encom- 
passed me.  It  wras  as  though  I  stood  on  the  brink 
of  a  vast  and  glowing  shaft  that  plunged  to  un- 
canny depths  beyond  human  sight.  On  each 
side  a  flash  of  blackness  suddenly  hummed  and 
spun,  now  closing  in  with  a  roar,  now  retreating 
with  the  sound  of  a  faint  ringing. 

From  far  away,  from  very  far  awTay  indeed,  1 
heard  a  voice  curiously  like  —  and  unlike  —  Miss 
Haldayne's  —  hard,  mocking.  It  seemed  to  be 
shouting  with  stupendous  effort  to  reach  my 
swooning  consciousness,  yet  it  was  no  more  than 
a  stirring  whisper  in  the  midst  of  that  singing 
roaring. 

"  There  it  is,—  That  Which  Cannot  be  Hid. 
It  called  to  them  and  the  spawn  of  the  Yellow 
Wolf  came  to  take  their  red  idol  back  to  its  empty 
Dragon  Shrine !  " 

A  far  ball  of  light  had  dawned  in  the  heart  of 
the  red  glow,  a  mere  pin-prick  of  light  at  first, 
but  growing  with  impossible  speed,  rushing 
toward  me,  golden-red  and  dazzling,  spinning  on 
its  axis,  hurtling  forward  madly.  Blazing  fis- 
sures of  infinite  depth  wormed  open  and  closed 
on  its  amazing  surface,  as  though  by  insufferable 
heat.  My  eyeballs  were  scorched,  dried  of  grate- 
ful moisture ;  I  tried  to  close  the  lids,  tried  fran- 
tically.    The  roaring  deepened  in  my  ears ;  it  be- 


HEAVEN  AND  EARTH  219 

came  the  sound  of  gigantic  waterfalls.  They  fell 
on  the  frantically  spinning  sphere,  fell  with  a 
hissing  that  caused  the  nerves  to  shrink,  terrified. 
There  was  a  blinding  flash  that  stabbed  my  brain 
with  pain ;  the  world  reeled  madly  in  palpitating 
waves  of  red  that  shook  into  blackness  more  ter- 
rifying than  the  burning  glow  had  been,  then  a 
thick  gray  cloud  that  rose  curtain-like  in  intoler- 
able stillness. 


CHAPTER  XV 

TAI   LOY  ^ 

THERE  is  nothing  to  tell  where  the  grim, 
blazing  clay  wastes  end  and  the  grim  blaz- 
ing sky  begins.  On  all  sides  the  desert  stretches 
to  a  seeming  cloudland  of  eternity, —  hard  yel- 
low-gray layers  and  benches  and  flattened  ridges 
undercut  and  abraded  by  the  wind,  each  less 
apparent  to  the  sight  the  farther  it  recedes  from 
the  gaze,  until  the  vast  choppy  floor  flattens  out 
to  a  deceptive  smoothness  and  loses  itself  in  the 
distant  haze. 

The  eyeballs  ache  with  its  vastness,  it  is  a 
veritable  planet  of  desolation.  Over  it  straggle 
gaunt  montane  skeletons  of  hills,  wasted  relics 
of  sliding  shingle  innocent  of  one  blade  of  grass. 
For  hundreds  of  miles  the  dreary  abrasions  of 
saline  clay  swell  to  the  horizon  without  a  break 
in  their  monotony,  so  that  the  unfortunate  na- 
tives of  the  waste  call  it  Tynghiri  —  which  means 
"  Sky."  It  might  better  be  called  Limbo.  It  is 
the  end  of  all  things,  the  dreary  outer  region 
which  rims  the  pit  of  Hades.     It  is  a  land  which 

220 


TAI  LOY  221 

once  lived  but  that  is  now  dead  and  forsaken, 
the  place  of  long-forgotten  things,  the  Garden  of 
Proserpine. 

The  faint,  indelible  marks  of  life  which  re- 
main are  more  dreary  than  stark  sterility  would 
be.  There  are  salt-stained  depressions,  traces  of 
ancient  shore-lines,  remains  of  shells  embedded 
in  the  clay;  there  are  belts  of  dead  poplars, 
patches  of  dead  tamarisks,  extensive  beds  of 
withered  reeds  rattling  eerily  when  the  wind 
passes  over  them  —  all  of  these  on  top  of  the 
jardangs,  never  in  the  wind-etched  furrows ;  there 
are  ripple-marks  on  the  leeward  side  of  clay  ter- 
races and  in  wind-sheltered  coigns, —  all  telling 
of  the  former  existence  of  fresh-water  lakes  long 
since  gone. 

Only  a  few  miserable  oases  now  remain, — 
straggling  groups  of  scrubby  poplars  struggling 
hard  not  to  die;  bushes  of  saxual;  tamarisks, 
their  roots  elevated  on  little  mounds  of  earth 
which  their  fibers  have  jealously  held  from  the 
wind  that  scoops  the  ground  from  about  them. 
Here  live  a  few  wild  camels,  drab  lizards,  a  few 
hares  and  dismal  croaking  crows. 

Spring,  which  to  greener,  more  favored  coun- 
tries means  rejuvenation,  brings  terrific  winds 
(o  this  outcast  land.  They  sweep  the  stretches 
clear  of  sand,  charging  the  air  so  thickly  with 
dust  that  a  yellow  pall  of  desolation  hangs  over 


222         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

the  gasping  face  of  the  desert  and  its  few  miser- 
able dwellers  cover  their  heads  from  the  dreaded 
burans.  The  sand  eventually  piles  in  gigantic 
dunes  that  choke  the  eastern  edge  of  the  desert, — 
great  dunes  shaped  like  horseshoes  and  towering 
from  thirty  to  three  hundred  feet  high.  They 
scurry  before  the  never-relenting  winds  like  liv- 
ing things,  ridiculously  immense  and  clumsy, 
traveling  over  a  hundred  and  sixty  feet  in  a  year, 
moving  forward  inevitably,  mounting  as  if  on  one 
another's  shoulders,  sometimes  topping  their  im- 
mensity by  still  a  third  tier, —  giants  imbued 
with  grotesque  life. 

This  is  the  Desert  of  Lop,  the  dread  heart  of 
the  mysterious  Gobi. 

Here,  two  thousand  years  ago,  lived  the  Shan- 
shani,  who  founded  the  state  of  Lou-lau  and  left 
the  crumbled  ruins  of  their  principal  town  to  tell 
their  story.  Here  dwelt  the  dread  Hun-yu,  those 
fierce  ancestors  of  Attila.  From  here  came  the 
Uighur  tribes  and  the  rulers  of  the  Tangut  king- 
dom; and  here,  in  the  sixth  century,  the  Turks 
gathered  strength  for  their  descent  on  Christen- 
dom. Six  hundred  years  later,  as  though  by 
divine  retribution,  Jenghiz  Khan  drew  away  the 
peoples  of  the  region.  The  wells  dried  up,  trees 
drooped  and  withered,  life  gasped  and  died,  and 
the  pall  of  silence  fell  on  the  face  of  the  land. 
It  became  a  desert. 


TAI  LOY  223 

Now  only  nomad  tribes  breast  the  fierce  wind 
and  brave  the  brazen  glare  of  the  sun.  In  the 
dismal  oases  they  have  bnilt  miserable  settle- 
ments and  they  eke  out  a  meager  existence  by 
raising  a  few  crops  along  the  seeping  water- 
holes,  and  by  riding  in  robber  bands  to  prey  on 
the  caravans  which  skirt  the  edge  of  their  grim 
country. 

No  one  —  no  one,  that  is,  who  by  God's  grace 
had  ever  known  a  happier  land, —  could  conceive 
of  a  human  willingly  clinging  to  such  a  place. 
Yet  the  heart  of  the  woman  who  stood  in  the 
blaze  of  late  afternoon,  on  the  edge  of  the  dirty 
village  of  Han  T'sin,  staring  at  the  whirling  dust- 
cloud  in  the  distance,  raged  within  her  and  her 
fingers  vindictively  crushed  into  a  paper  ball  the 
letter  which  to  another  would  have  spelled  free- 
dom. 

She  was  like  the  country,  this  woman.  Like  it, 
she  was  grim  and  gray.  Like  it,  she  appeared 
to  have  been  swept  clean, —  swept  by  the  winds 
of  life  which  had  blown  away  all  but  one  grim, 
deep-embedded  purpose.  It  had  furrowed  her 
face,  scarred  her  soul,  as  the  vertical  faces  of  the 
clay  ridges  were  furrowed  and  scarred.  Bleak, 
uncompromising,  capable  of  fits  of  passionate 
wrath  as  the  desert  was  capable  of  the  dread 
dust-storms,  an  iron-visaged  woman, —  and  she 
was  a  white  woman. 


224         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

Her  stormy  black  eyes  were  finally  withdrawn 
from  the  moving  dust-cloud  which  had  blown  it- 
self into  a  thin  ghost  and  she  smoothed  out  the 
paper  in  her  palm,  to  resume  her  reading  at  the 
point  where  in  her  anger  she  had  crumpled  it  : 

And  so,  my  dear  Miss  Haldayne,  though  we  appreciate 
your  zeal  in  thus  choosing  the  heart  of  the  desert  in  which 
to  carry  the  Good  Word  to  these  benighted  natives,  it 
seemed  for  the  best  that  you  should  go  to  other  fields. 

The  mission  funds  will  not  permit  of  the  continued  ex- 
pense of  a  worker  where  the  population  does  not  seem  to 
warrant  it.  We  are  sending  a  bearer  with  money  and 
camels  from  Nanking.  Please  report  at  headquarters  when 
you  reach  here,  in  order  to  ascertain  your  future  work. 
It  will  probably  be  necessary  to  send  you  to  America  on 
business.  .  .  . 

At  this  point  the  paper  was  convulsively 
crushed  again  and  the  woman's  face,  a  grim 
mask,  was  again  turned  toward  the  now  settling 
dust-cloud. 

Her  mind  groped  back  over  the  years  since  she 
came  to  Han  T'sin,  crouching  beneath  its  dreary 
dying  poplars.  Squalid,  monotonous  years  they 
had  been,  yet  somehow  filled  with  a  strange 
peace.  Here  her  restless  spirit  had  been  soothed 
to  something  like  quiet;  here  the  gnawing  envy 
which  had  tortured  her  had  grown  dormant. 
Personal  danger ;  a  never-sleeping  watchfulness ; 
the  stupendous  effort  of  swaying  these  children 


TAI  LOY  225 

of  superstition  and  ignorance  to  Christianity,  of 
grappling  spiritually  with  their  pagan  priests  for 
their  souls,  of  maintaining  a  stern,  almost  mascu- 
line grip  on  affairs,  and  patiently,  with  a  cunning 
almost  equal  to  their  own,  forcing  herself  into 
power  in  the  village, —  all  this  had  left  little  time 
in  which  to  brood.  And  now  Fate  was  hurling 
her  back  among  her  own  kind,  back  among  men 
whom  she  hated  and  women  whom  she  despised. 

A  figure  slipped  from  the  door  of  one  of  the 
huts  of  sun-baked  brick  and,  silently  as  a  shadow, 
approached  the  motionless  woman.  A  hand 
touched  her  sleeve  with  timid  reverence. 

Eliza  Haldayne  wheeled,  the  scowl  of  her  black 
brows  smoothed,  her  iron  features  softened  a 
trifle  as  she  looked  down  into  the  soft  almond 
eyes  shining  up  at  her. 

Slim,  small-boned,  and  graceful,  even  by  West- 
ern standards  this  little  Chinese  maiden  was  at- 
tractive. She  was  not  of  this  wild  Lo-Lo  tribe; 
she  was  a  Manchu,  of  the  reigning  race  of  the 
Flowery  Kingdom,  stolen  from  a  south-bound 
caravan  as  a  baby,  fourteen  years  before.  Her 
race  showed  in  her  skin  of  creamy  gold  which 
overlaid  the  dusky  pink  of  her  cheeks,  in  the  blue- 
black  hair,  drawn  back  in  two  satin  "  wings  " 
from  the  smooth  forehead,  in  the  small  pome- 
granate mouth  and  the  tapering  fingers  whose 
daintiness  daily  labor  could  not  entirely  destroy ; 


226         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

in  the  high-arched  little  feet  encased  in  ugly 
skin  shoes.  Contrasted  with  the  Lo-Lo  women 
with  their  dusty,  unkempt  hair,  their  flat  feet, 
and  their  faces  withered  and  drawn  even  in 
youth,  she  was  like  a  pearl  in  the  dust,  like  a  star 
set  in  the  clay. 

Into  the  grim,  barren  life  of  the  white  woman 
the  affection  of  this  alien  girl  had  stolen  like  a 
sweet,  insinuating  perfume.  No  hint  of  the  jeal- 
ous hatred  she  felt  for  women  of  her  own  race 
marked  the  serenity  of  the  strange  friendship; 
there  was  too  little  ground  for  comparison.  She 
had  seen  the  girl  grow  from  a  child  to  maiden- 
hood; to  her  eyes  the  little  Chinese  maid  was  a 
bejeweled  plaything,  a  perfect  lily-bloom,  the  one 
thing  of  beauty  she  allowed  herself. 

The  play  of  affection  on  her  face  now  made 
the  woman's  features  almost  gentle.  "  What  is 
is,  Tai  Loy  ?  "  she  asked  in  Cantonese. 

A  ripple  of  anxiety  passed  over  the  girl's  face, 
like  the  slight  passage  of  wind  over  water. 

"  The  Teacher  is  troubled,"  she  replied  in  the 
same  medium.  "  I  watched  from  the  hut  and 
I  saw  her  bend  her  brows,  so," —  her  own  pretty 
arches  drew  together.  "  Tai  Loy  wishes  she 
could  help.  Is  it  that  the  Yellow  Wolf  is  trou- 
bling again?  " 

The  white  woman's  gaze  again  sought  the  far 
horizon  of  the  desert. 


TAI  LOY  227 

"  No,  it 's  not  the  Yellow  Wolf  this  time,"  she 
finally  admitted.  "  I  have  to  go  away  from  here, 
Tai  Loy." 

"  Away  from  Han  T'sin !  "  There  was  stunned 
unbelief  in  the  girl's  voice.  "  For  always,  my 
Teacher?  " 

"  Yes,  always,"  came  the  grim  reply.  "  It 
costs  too  much  to  keep  me  here,  Tai  Loy.  You 
know  I  've  told  you  of  the  mission  funds  before." 

Little  Tai  Loy  seemed  unable  to  grasp  it.  Her 
words  came  in  a  shocked  whisper :  "  There  is  no 
other  way?  There  is  no  one  else  who  could  give 
money?  " 

"  Yes,  there 's  some  money  I  should  have,  but 
I  can't  get  it  because  of  a  vain,  lazy  fool  of  a 
woman !  "  The  words  were  ripped  out,  hot  with 
passion.  Tai  Loy  fixed  her  gentle  eyes  on  her 
companion's  face  in  surprised  dread.  She  had 
never  before  heard  her  mentor  speak  so  harshly. 

"  A  spoiled,  worthless  woman !  "  Eliza  Hal- 
dayne's  face  was  black  with  anger.  Her 
thoughts  leaped  down  the  years,  seeing  only  the 
clearer  for  the  time  that  had  elapsed.  Han  T'sin 
faded  away,  little  Tai  Loy  vanished  into  the 
limbo  of  things  not  born  as  yet.  She  was  back 
in  her  American  home, —  a  strange,  tense  child 
constantly  being  thrust  aside  for  the  whims  of 
an  indulged  younger  sister.  She  watched  her- 
self grow  to  austere  girlhood,  unliked  and  un- 


228        WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

wanted,  a  bitter  green  bud  beside  a  too-flamboy- 
ant flower,  her  plainness  accentuated  by  the 
other's  beauty.  She  watched  herself  bloom  into 
lonely  womanhood, — too  caustic,  too  severe,  still 
dominated  by  the  beautiful  tyrant  of  the  family. 
Parental  affection  was  denied  her,  showered 
upon  the  spoiled  beauty;  friendship  passed  her 
by  to  be  offered  as  incense  to  the  selfish  sister. 

One  warming  ray  of  affection  alone  stole  down 
the  years  to  soften  her  face  with  its  memory. 
On  gentle  little  Florence,  the  lonely  girl  had 
showered  all  the  fierce  love  of  her  strange  nature. 
In  time,  however,  even  this  solace  was  denied 
her.  The  delicate  little  girl  was  sent  away  to 
boarding-school ;  the  elder  sister  remained  in  her 
distasteful  environment,  grimmer  and  more  for- 
saken than  ever. 

She  saw  dawn  in  white-hot  flame  the  one  love 
of  her  life,  a  love  for  which  she  would  have 
bowed  her  stubborn  body  to  the  ground ;  and  she 
knew  the  hot  resentment,  the  bitter  pain  of  hav- 
ing that  love,  like  everything  else  of  her  life, 
given  the  women  she  had  come  to  hate. 

As  on  the  never-forgotten  day  when  she  had 
learned  this,  body  and  soul  writhed  in  an  agony 
of  jealousy.  Even  now,  long  years  after,  her 
breast  swelled  with  her  convulsed  breath,  her 
nostrils  twitched.  Oh,  it  had  been  a  glorious 
revenge  she  had  taken !     If  she  had  not  won  his 


TAI  LOY  229 

love,  the  hated  Drusilla  had  not  kept  it.  The 
match  had  been  broken, —  that  had  been  the 
supreme  effort  of  her  life.  She  had  known  the 
satisfaction  and  pain  of  seeing  him  married  to 
another. 

There  was  a  grim  smile  in  the  black  eyes  at 
the  memory  of  Drusilla's  hysterical  rage.  Each 
shrieked  reproach  her  sister  had  hurled  upon  her 
had  been  balm  to  the  terrible  ache  in  her  heart. 

Then  the  scene  shifted  quickly.  Her  banked- 
up  emotions  had  found  an  outlet  in  religion. 
She  had  flung  herself  into  missionary  work  with 
a  zeal  which  was  almost  fanaticism,  outstripping 
gentler  workers  with  her  intense  concentration. 
It  had  carried  her  far,  that  abnormal  ability  for 
work, —  away  from  the  land  where  she  had  put 
in  the  lonely  years  of  her  youth ;  away  from  the 
aging,  irascible  father,  from  the  sister,  not  so 
beautiful  now,  settling  down  to  a  whining,  aim- 
less existence  and  feverishly  spending  what  was 
left  of  the  family  fortune  in  a  vain  attempt  to  fill 
her  empty  life.  Han  T'sin  came  over  the  horizon 
i — the  dying  poplar  trees  —  the  gray  Gobi  — 
and  Tai  Loy. 

She  wheeled,  to  find  the  little  maid's  eyes 
fastened  upon  her  stony  profile  with  fascinated 
dread.  Again  her  features  softened.  She  pat- 
ted the  tapering  hand  which  still  rested  on  her 
sleeve.     Emboldened,  Tai  Loy  pressed  closer  and 


230         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

the  dusky  pink  deepened  beneath  the  gold  of  her 
cheeks. 

"  What  will  become  of  me,  when  you  go?  My 
Teacher,  I  am  afraid  of  Han  T'sin.  The  Yellow 
Wolf  has  deigned  to  do  me  the  honor  of  noticing 
my  miserable  face." 

Poor  little  Tai  Loy  looked  not  so  much  honored 
as  frightened  as  she  spoke,  and  Miss  Haldayne's 
black  brows  met  at  her  words. 

The  attentions  of  Yellow  Wolf  —  the  brutal 
chief  of  a  bandit  crew,  a  bloodthirsty  savage, 
worthy  descendant  of  the  Hun-yu  —  could  bode 
no  good  for  delicate  little  Tai  Loy.  Yellow  Wolf 
and  his  band  were  the  bane  of  the  squalid  little 
village  which  they  made  their  headquarters.  On 
their  inbred  superstition,  on  their  blind  idolatry, 
on  the  hideous  cruelty  and  lust  they  practised, 
Christianity  had  made  never  a  mark.  Yellow 
Wolf  was  her  personal  enemy, —  Eliza  Haldayne 
realized  that.  Her  spirit  raged  within  her  at 
the  knowledge  that  her  departure  would  leave 
the  little  village  of  lukewarm  Christians  at  the 
mercy  of  this  barbarian.  But  Tai  Loy  he  should 
not  have!  She  settled  this  with  characteristic 
decision. 

"  You  shall  come  with  me,  Tai  Loy, —  you  and 
Yeun  Low,  the  blind  beggar.  You  two  are  the 
only  sincere  souls  in  this  whole  village  of  hypo- 
crites ! "     She  added  it  more  to  herself  than  to 


TAI  LOY  231 

the  girl.  "  The  bearer  will  be  here  any  day  now 
with  the  money  and  the  camels.  You  shall  come 
to  my  country  with  me,  Tai  Loy." 

She  was  not  looking  at  the  girl  and  so  failed 
to  see  the  curious  shadow  which  darkened  the 
gentle  little  face ;  nor  did  she  note  the  plaintive 
lilt  of  the  voice  which  thanked  her. 

The  little  maid  stood  motionless  for  a  moment, 
her  eyes  on  the  preoccupied  face  of  the  foreign 
woman  who  had  shown  her  such  unwonted  affec- 
tion; then  silently  she  turned  and  slipped  be- 
tween the  dry  and  rattling  tamarisks  which 
fringed  the  village. 

The  earth  was  giving  up  its  heat  in  dry  gasps, 
but  the  tyrannical  heat  of  the  sun  overhead  was 
lessening  as  it  slipped  down  the  sky  in  a  haze  of 
its  own  making.  The  scarred  clay  ridges  cast 
long  shadows  in  the  smoky  red  light ;  the  far  dis- 
tances seemed  to  throw  off  their  lethargy  and 
stretch  themselves.  The  bitter  iron  land  was 
reaching  out  for  the  invigorating  cold  of  night. 

To  Tai  Loy,  stealing  through  the  brush,  came 
the  sound  of  preparations  for  the  evening  meal. 
The  grinding  of  nut-meats,  the  treble  singsong  of 
children,  the  voices  of  women  crying  nasally  to 
one  another.  But  it  came  faintly;  here  in  the 
tamarisks  was  silence  brooding.  Here  the  shal- 
low seepage  from  the  spring  spread  out  in  a  pool 
large  enough  to  reflect  a  triangle  of  sky.     Tai 


232        WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

Loy  suddenly  paused  in  the  brush,  tense  with 
caution. 

Crouched  above  the  mirroring  water  was  a 
man's  figure,  wrapped  in  a  blue-gray  robe  many 
sizes  too  large  for  his  shrunken  frame,  and  ex- 
ceedingly dirty  and  ragged.  Apparently  he  was 
studying  his  own  reflection  in  the  pool,  with 
deepest  interest,  but  as  a  dry  twig  snapped  under 
the  girl's  foot  the  withered  face  was  raised 
sharply  and  held  tense,  listening.  Then  one 
might  have  seen  that  he  had  no  eyes,  only  scarred 
sockets  where  eyes  had  once  been. 

The  girl  spoke,  to  ease  the  apprehension  in  that 
old  face. 

"  It  is  only  Tai  Loy,  Father."  She  went  for- 
ward and  crouched  beside  his  still  figure  on  the 
margin. 

The  old  man  gazed  up  in  the  direction  of 
her  voice  with  the  pitiful  over-attention  of  the 
blind. 

Tai  Loy  continued.  "  The  Teacher  is  to  leave 
Han  T'sin  when  the  bearer-  comes  with  the 
camels.  She  has  been  called  back  to  the  West- 
ern land  and  when  she  leaves  I  will  go ;  and  with 
her  you  will  go,  too,  Yeun  Low." 

There  was  a  short  silence;  then  the  old  man 
shook  his  head  from  side  to  side,  slowly  and 
sadly. 

"  I  have  felt  too  many  suns  rise  on  the  Gobi  to 


TAI  LOY  233 

leave  it  now.  I  knew  the  youth  of  Han  T'sin; 
that  was  before  ever  your  father's  father  was 
born,  little  Loy.  I  will  not  die  away  from  the 
land  of  my  fathers." 

The  girl  did  not  dispute  this.  She  leaned  for- 
ward and  her  tapering  fingers  brushed  the  ragged 
blue-gray  of  his  robe. 

"  What  do  you  see  for  me,  O  Ancient  One?  " 
she  half  whispered.  She  crouched  on  her  heels 
there  beside  him  and  the  tender  green  of  her 
trailing  robe  melted  into  the  carpet  of  young 
reed-shoots  that  edged  the  marge.  "  Tell  me 
what  will  be !  " 

There  was  a  long  silence;  then,  above  the 
rustling  of  the  dry  tamarisks,  the  reedy  old  voice 
rose  cryptically: 

"  The  ripe  pomegranate  hangs  low  on  the 
branch  and  the  reach  of  the  Yellow  One  is 
swift ! " 

Beneath  the  smooth  gold  of  the  girl's  cheeks 
the  mellow  rose  receded  slowly.  Tai  Loy  spoke 
more  low : 

"  Is  that  all  you  can  see,  my  father?  " 

The  sightless  eyes  stared  down  into  the  shallow 
pool  fringed  with  its  scanty  growth.  The  girl 
waited  patiently,  one  slender  hand  stealing  to 
her  breast. 

The  voice  quavered  once  more  from  the  shriv- 
eled throat : 


234         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

"  Dust,  gray  dust,  hangs  low  over  the  plain 
and  the  dawn  is  not  for  you." 

A  shadow  crept  into  the  soft  almond  eyes  and 
Tai  Loy's  voice  was  troubled. 

"  I  am  stupid  beyond  my  years,  O  Wise  One," 
she  said  gently,  "  and  what  is  light  to  you  is  my 
darkness.    Tell  me  clearly  of  the  future,  Father." 

Again  the  wind  rattled  the  tamarisks.  The 
smoky  red  light  had  deepened  perceptibly  before 
the  blind  beggar's  voice  sounded  monotonously: 

"  Gray  dust  over  the  plain,  Tai  Loy,  and  the 
dawn  is  not  for  you !  " 

A  sudden  chill  swept  the  little  maid  crouched 
there  on  her  heels.  The  still  water  before  her 
flushed  red  with  the  angry  sky.  The  tamarisks 
rustled  warningly  across  the  pool,  twigs  snapped 
beneath  a  foot.  One  of  the  village  women  was 
coming  to  fill  her  water-bowl  at  the  spring.  Like 
a  startled  hare  Tai  Loy  sprang  to  her  feet  and 
fled  amid  the  thickening  shadows. 

On  the  edge  of  the  straggling  settlement,  be- 
neath a  towering  poplar  which  never  leafed, 
stood  the  one  stone  structure  of  the  village. 
Imposing,  this  place,  compared  with  the  squalid 
clay  huts  clustered  at  its  foot.  Perched  on  a 
rise  of  ground,  built  of  unhewn  stones,  whose 
crannies  afforded  dreary  foothold  for  a  species  of 
dry  gray  lichen,  it  had  a  dignity  through  contrast 
and  association  which  caused  even  the  professed 


TAI  LOY  235 

Christians  of  Han  T'sin  to  regard  it  with  super- 
stitious awe.  For  this  was  the  Temple  of  the 
Dragon  Shrine,  the  abode  of  that  dreaded  Ked 
One,  the  Kuby  God  of  Han  T'sin,  Lord  of  the 
Shadows  and  of  Death,  the  idol  before  whom 
even  Yellow  Wolf  the  Intrepid  bent  the  knee  and 
whose  favor  had  so  long  kept  his  robber  band 
from  the  slow  death  they  dealt  others. 

Away  from  the  shadows  of  the  tamarisks  the 
night  seemed  not  so  imminent.  The  sun  was  a 
smoky  red  jewel,  seemingly  resting  on  the  hori- 
zon ;  the  shadow  of  Tai  Loy  went  bobbing  before 
her,  ever  growing  longer.  A  crow  cawed  in  sur- 
prised derision  as  she  slipped  between  two  loose 
stones  in  the  temple  wall.  What  was  little 
Christian  Tai  Loy  doing  here  in  the  Temple  of 
the  Dragon  Shrine? 

Just  the  other  side  of  the  aperture  through 
which  she  had  squeezed,  the  girl  paused  and  cast 
one  frightened  look  over  her  shoulder.  Appar- 
ently she  had  not  been  observed  from  the  village, 
but  her  eyes  were  caught  and  held  by  something 
invisible  from  the  lower  ground,  a  dark  cloud 
against  the  red  horizon,  a  pillar  of  dust  moving 
steadily  against  the  sunset,  though  the  winds 
had  died  with  dramatic  suddenness  when  even- 
ing fell. 

Tai  Loy's  lips  moved  and  although  no  sound 
came  she  was  repeating  the  blind  beggar's  words : 


236        WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

"  Dust  —  gray  dust  hangs  low  over  the  plain  — " 
She  shivered. 

A  gong  sounded  within  the  temple  to  mark  the 
passing  of  the  sun  and  a  slim,  slate-gray  figure 
slipped  into  the  fading  light  of  the  outer  court. 
His  gaze  leaped  to  the  broken  stone  in  the  temple 
wall  and  he  came,  straight  as  a  homing  dove, 
toward  the  girl  who  lingered  in  the  shadows. 

A  young  priest  he  was,  the  shaven  head  and 
severe  slate-gray  robe  imparting  a  dignity  in- 
compatible with  his  years.  His  eyes  were  burn- 
ing with  a  soft  glow  never  called  forth  by  the 
Ruby  God  he  served;  his  voice  was  low  and 
vibrant  as  he  called  her  name. 

Now  the  rose  pink  flamed  over  Tai  Loy's  face, 
pale  since  the  cryptic  prophecy  of  the  blind  beg- 
gar. The  green  robe  over  her  little  breast  was 
like  an  aspen  trembling  in  the  wind.  Even  to 
the  black  satin  of  her  hair  the  pink  tide  mounted 
as  he  clasped  and  made  prisoner  the  fluttering 
hands. 

"  Tai  Loy,  for  two  days  you  have  not  come !  — 
two  days,  my  little  pomegranate  maid,  and  they 
were  as  bitter  herbs  in  my  mouth.  This  morn- 
ing I  begged  boon  from  the  Eed  One,  and  behold 
—  you  came !  " 

Now  again  the  shadow  came  into  Tai  Loy's 
eyes.  "  It  was  not  the  Red  One,  Hoang,"  and  she 
twisted  her  hands  away  firmly.     "  Though  he  sits 


TAI  LOY  237 

in  the  Dragon  Shrine,  he  is  nothing;  he  is  less 
than  nothing  —  he  is  dust,  a  palmf ul  of  ashes. 
I  am  very  stupid  in  many  things,  but  this  I  know : 
there  is  a  God  who  is  not  seen  and  He  is  the  true 
God.  Oh,  my  dearly  beloved,  if  you  would  only 
believe  this  and  forsake  the  Dragon  Shrine! 
Truly,  the  Red  One  fills  me  with  fearful  dislike !  " 

"  Hush,  little  pomegranate ! "  The  young 
priest  cast  a  fearful  glance  over  his  shoulder 
toward  the  blurring  outline  of  the  temple.  "  The 
Red  One  is  swift  to  revenge  and  to  strike !  Even 
I  cannot  avert  his  vengeance;  it  is  more  swift 
and  sure  than  the  Yellow  Wolfs.  Forsake  the 
Dragon  Shrine  —  Tai  Loy,  even  for  you  I  dare 
not !  The  Ruby  God  is  a  strong  god ;  he  is  very 
ancient,  Tai  Loy,  perhaps  of  the  time  of  the  great 
Yu.  Long  before  the  day  dawned  for  Han  T'sin 
he  was,  brought  from  out  the  land  to  the  west, 
from  out  of  Burma.  Ever  so  long  ago  that  was, 
even  beyond  the  memory  of  the  old  blind  beggar. 
He  is  a  god,  for  I  see  men  stand  before  him  and 
look  into  his  deep  eyes  and  their  spirit  flags  and 
is  dragged  from  their  body  and  goes  elsewhere. 
I  know,  for  I  too  have  felt  that  — " 

Tai  Loy  shook  the  head  held  close  against  his 
breast. 

"  I  too  felt  that  once,  but  never  since  the 
Teacher  came.  Now  I  think  of  the  White  Christ 
when  I  stand  before  the  Dragon  Shrine  and  the 


238         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

Kuby  One's  eyes  are  as  mere  bits  of  red  glass." 
Her  tone  suddenly  grew  impatient:  "Ah,  my 
beloved,  why  do  we  waste  our  little  time,  our 
stolen  time!  My  spirit  is  faint  within  me  to- 
night, my  heart  is  tearing  asunder.  The  Teacher 
is  to  leave  Han  T'sin  and  I  am  to  go  with  her 
when  the  camels  arrive." 

The  low  cry  of  surprised  pain  which  broke 
from  the  young  priest  brought  an  answering 
moan  from  the  little  maid  and  for  a  silent  mo- 
ment they  clung  to  each  other  in  the  deepening 
dusk. 

It  was  the  man  who  spoke :  "  You  will  go  and 
leave  Han  T'sin  forever  —  and  me !  " 

Tai  Loy  struggled  with  her  tears  for  a  moment 
in  silence;  then  her  head  was  bravely  lifted  and 
her  eyes  sought  his,  glowing  down  upon  her  in 
the  half-light. 

"  I  am  afraid  of  the  Yellow  Wolf;  yet  I  would 
stay  if  you  told  me  to." 

The  young  priest's  forehead  creased  in  puzzled 
pain  and  he  repeated  after  her  almost  stupidly : 
"  You  are  afraid  of  the  Yellow  Wolf.  Of  the 
Yellow  Wolf?  "  Into  the  black  eyes  alarm  sud- 
denly smoldered  to  flame.  The  small  maid  was 
crushed  so  close  in  his  arms  that  a  little  cry 
broke  from  her  lips. 

The  man  spoke  slowly,  as  one  who  wishes  to 
convince  himself :  "  The  Yellow  Wolf  has  been 


TAI  LOY  239 

gone  since  the  feast  of  All  Souls  in  the  Seventh 
Month.  This  is  the  Feast  of  the  Tombs.  Per- 
haps disaster  has  overtaken  him,  perhaps  the  Red 
God  has  withdrawn  his  protection.  It  may  be 
that  the  warring  tribes  to  the  north  have  dealt 
the  slow  death  he  has  forced  upon  so  many  of 
their  people/' 

The  shadow  in  Tai  Loy's  eyes  did  not  lighten. 
Her  voice  trembled.  "  Moons  have  risen  and 
waned  on  the  absence  of  the  Yellow  Wolf  before, 
and  yet  he  always  sweeps  down  upon  Han  T'sin 
as  the  pestilence  sweeps.  He  is  very  cruel,  the 
Yellow  Wolf.  He  knows  where  the  eyes  of  the 
Ancient  One  have  gone.  It  was  he  who  took 
little  Yat  Low  four  seasons  ago,  and  Yat  Low 
never  returned  to  the  village.  Hoang,  I  am 
afraid !  Let  us  go  when  the  Teacher  goes.  This 
is  my  wish,  Beloved,  my  earnest  wish, —  that 
mounted  on  the  same  camel  we  shall  flee  together 
far  from  Han  T'sin." 

The  torture  of  the  young  priest's  soul  showed 
in  his  eyes.  All  of  his  life  had  been  spent  in 
homage  to  his  god.  The  fibers  of  his  spirit  were 
straining. 

"  Tai  Loy !  "  and  his  voice  was  sharp  with  pain. 
"  I  cannot  tell  you  now.  I  will  sacrifice  to  the 
Red  One  and  ask  his  favor.  There  is  no  need  for 
me  here,  there  are  three  priests  now  —  Chan- 
chau,  that  old  one;  Kublai,  my  honored  elder 


240         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

brother,  and  I.  Surely,  surely,  I  who  have 
tended  the  Dragon  Shrine  so  faithfully  shall  be 
released  to  my  beloved !  Yet  — "  his  voice  sank 
suddenly  to  the  plane  of  lost  hope — "such  a 
thing  has  never  been." 

He  groaned  in  anguish  and  crushed  the  slim 
figure  against  him.  "  Tai  Loy,  I  do  not  know, 
but  —  Tai  Loy,  I  love  you,  I  love  you,  my  little 
pomegranate  maid ! " 

A  gong  vibrated  within  the  temple,  its  tones 
eddying  outward  like  circles  from  a  stone  flung 
into  a  pond.  The  two  clinging  figures  reluct- 
antly separated.  The  young  priest  spoke  low 
and  hurriedly :  "  Tien  huni!  —  the  time  for  the 
evening  sacrifice.  The  Red  One  guard  you,  Tai 
Loy!" 

"  The  Blessings  of  the  White  Christ  be  with 
you,  my  beloved,"  whispered  the  little  maid. 

Silently  as  a  shadow  she  glided  between  the 
broken  stones  in  the  temple  wall.  The  sky  was 
murky  red  now.  The  outline  of  the  poplars  and 
the  tamarisks  was  blurred.  The  desert  sloped 
away  on  all  sides,  vague  and  vast,  like  a  great 
saucer,  to  the  horizon.  Over  the  ridges  of  the 
clay,  split  into  dry,  perpendicular  clefts,  Tai  Loy 
made  her  way  carefully,  her  eyes  on  the  uneven 
ground  to  guide  her  slender  feet. 

Only  when  a  dark  bulk,  the  bulk  that  a  great 
rock  might  attain,  loomed  across  the  way,  did  she 


TAI  LOY  241 

glance  up.  The  breath  left  her  chest  in  a  little 
startled  gasp,  the  almond  eyes  dilated  with 
fright,  the  rose  seeped  away  from  the  smooth  gold 
skin. 

Yeun  Low  had  foreseen.  The  gray  dust-clond 
had  reached  Han  T'sin.  The  Yellow  Wolf  tow- 
ered before  her. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  YELLOW    WOLF 

IN  the  yellow  flicker  of  candlelight  the  crouch- 
ing shadow  of  the  blind  beggar  leaped  up  the 
clay  walls  like  a  humpbacked  giant.  Eliza  Hal- 
dayne  paused  in  the  act  of  tying  together  her  few 
belongings.  The  candlelight  gleamed  in  her 
watchful  black  eyes  as  a  burst  of  shouting  came 
from  the  village.  It  sank  again  to  a  hectic  chant 
and  she  gave  the  baggage  her  attention  once 
more. 

The  blind  beggar  resumed  his  interrupted 
drone : 

"  The  pack  of  the  Yellow  Wolf  is  in  full  cry 
to-night.  Han  T'sin  rocks  beneath  the  thunder 
of  his  followers'  tread.  Like  a  shadow  I  moved 
about  the  village  and  this  I  have  heard  the  women 
tell :  three  villages  in  the  Khingan  hills  lie  smok- 
ing at  their  backs;  there  are  new-made  widows 
in  the  Sayan  this  moon.  They  spoke  of  silver 
taken  recently  from  a  bearer  from  the  east. 
White  Teacher,  when  did  the  carrier  leave  Nan- 
king with  the  money  sent  you  ?  " 

242 


THE  YELLOW  WOLF  243 

Eliza  Haldayne  straightened  as  though  a 
sword  had  suddenly  menaced  her.  Her  black 
eyes  leaped  to  sudden  comprehension.  "  You 
mean  —  he  has  held  up  my  carrier?  —  the  man 
sent  with  the  money  and  the  camels?  " 

The  old  man  listened,  his  head  painfully  on 
one  side.  He  moved  his  hand  with  the  patient 
gesture  of  the  blind.  "  There  are  three  new 
camels  in  the  train  of  the  Yellow  Wolf.  I  have 
heard  the  tinkle  of  new-got  silver,"  he  insinu- 
ated. 

The  white  woman's  eyes  flashed  with  wrath. 
"The  beastly  robber!  The  highbinder!73  She 
made  a  swift  movement  as  though  to  swoop 
through  the  door.  The  old  man  flung  his  body 
forward  in  the  direction  of  the  faint  sound  and 
his  fingers  hooked  in  her  skirt. 

"  Wait !  Wait !  "  The  old  voice  was  shrill  with 
alarm.  "  Reflect !  The  pack  of  the  Yellow 
Wolf  is  full  and  —  his  bandits  have  no  love  for 
foreign  devils ! " 

Her  impetuous  rush  had  half  dragged  him  to 
his  knees,  but  the  wisdom  of  his  words  halted 
her.  It  was  true.  What  could  she  and  her  few 
lukewarm  Christians  accomplish  against  the  evil 
power  of  the  Yellow  Wolfs  band?  She  stood  for 
a  long  moment,  her  black  brows  knit,  her  lips 
pursed  reflectively  over  her  large  square  teeth. 
At  her  feet  the  old  beggar  crouched,  the  uncer- 


£44        WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

tain  snadows  playing  over  his  face  and  blotting 
his  eyeless  sockets  as  the  candle  blew  in  the 
draft. 

That  shrill  warning  had  carried  another  fear 
to  the  white  woman's  mind.  "  Tai  Loy !  *  she 
cried  with  sudden  anxiety.  "Where  is  the 
child?  This  is  no  night  for  her  to  be  abroad  in 
Han  T'sin,  with  the  Yellow  Wolf  at  large." 

"  Before  the  sunset  gong  I  spoke  with  her  in 
the  tamarisks  by  the  pool  of  Odontala,"  the  old 
voice  quavered.     "  Shall  I  seek  her?  " 

"  Yes.  I  '11  stay  here,  out  of  the  Yellow  Wolf's 
way.  It 's  bound  to  come  to  a  quarrel  be- 
tween us  if  we  meet,"  she  said  grimly,  more  to 
herself  than  to  him.  Her  mouth  grew  grim  at 
the  passive  part  she  was  forced  to  play,  then  she 
buckled  herself  to  the  task  in  hand. 

"  No,  not  that  way,"  as  the  old  man  was  feel- 
ing his  way  to  the  entrance.  "  You  '11  have  the 
whole  pack  on  you  if  you  're  seen  coming  out  of 
here.  This  way."  She  tugged  a  large  chest 
from  the  wall  at  the  back  of  the  room  and  showed 
a  hole  made  by  prying  out  some  of  the  sun-baked 
clay  bricks.  It  let  down  to  a  slight  depression 
in  the  ground,  its  telltale  entrance  hidden  by 
close-growing  tamarisk  shrubs.  "  Come  back  the 
same  way.  No  need  of  running  into  trouble,  or 
of  taking  all  Han  T'sin  into  our  confidence. 
Nobody  knows  about  this  entrance  now  but  you. 


THE  YELLOW  WOLF  245 

Get  Tai  Loy  and  bring  her  here.     I  '11  hide  her 
until  the  band  moves  on." 

She  helped  the  blind  man  through  the  opening 
and  heard  him  moving  through  the  familiar  dark 
with  more  certainty  than  one  who  depended  on 
the  light.  Then,  turning  back  to  the  chest,  she 
lifted  the  lid  and  grimly  laid  a  revolver  and  some 
cartridges  on  the  rude  table.  "  Might  come  to 
that,"  she  said,  speaking  aloud  in  the  way  of 
one  much  alone. 

From  the  entrance  of  the  hut  she  could  look 
upon  the  village  a  short  distance  away.  Fires 
leaped  beneath  the  poplars,  dark  figures  moved 
before  them,  temporarily  blotting  the  red  glare 
from  sight.  Faint  faces  stood  out  in  momentary 
relief  as  a  log  burst  asunder  with  a  shower  of 
sparks.  The  nasal  chant  rose  and  fell  on  the 
cold  air  brooding  over  the  desert.  From  far 
away  the  barbaric  song  was  answered  by  an  out- 
burst of  chuckling  laughter, —  hideous  clanking 
laughter:  the  hyenas  were  answering  their 
human  brethren. 

A  faint  rustling  in  the  tamarisks  at  one  side 
of  the  hut  caused  the  woman's  hand  to  drop  to 
the  revolver.  A  dark  figure  separated  itself  from 
the  black  background  and  glided  into  the  radius 
of  the  candlelight.  It  was  Tai  Loy.  Between 
the  blue-black  wings  of  her  hair  her  face  was 
colorless. 


246        WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

"  Yeun  Low  found  you,  then,"  burst  from  the 
white  woman  in  relief.  She  slammed  the  door 
behind  the  girl.  Tai  Loy  tried  to  control  the 
quivering  of  her  lips,  that  she  might  speak. 

"I  did  not  see  the  Old  One.  I  fled  here  from 
the  Yellow  Wolf.  On  the  little  hill  below  the 
temple  he  rose  before  me.  Honeyed  words 
dripped  from  his  lips  and  he  tried  to  sheath  the 
daggers  of  his  eyes,  but  I  feared  him  and  I  ran. 
I  heard  him  laugh.  As  the  hyenas  laugh  so  did 
he —  and  I  ran,  my  Teacher.  He  stumbled  after, 
but  I  am  fleeter  of  foot  and  in  the  tamarisk  patch 
he  lost  me.  What  shall  I  do,  O  my  Teacher?  I 
am  afraid.  There  was  little  Yat  Low.  He 
looked  upon  her,  even  as  he  looks  upon  me,  and 
she  never  returned  to  the  village.  I  am  afraid, 
my  Teacher." 

The  forehead  of  the  woman  was  creased  with 
sudden  lines.  She  stood  silent  in  desperate 
thought,  smoothing  the  satin  hair  of  the  fright- 
ened little  creature  before  her.  This  was  a  ter- 
rible problem  given  to  Eliza  Haldayne  for  solu- 
tion. If  the  Yellow  Wolf  had  made  up  his  mind 
to  have  Tai  Loy,  he  would  search  Han  T'sin  from 
end  to  end.  Not  a  rice-pack,  not  a  crevice  nor 
a  cranny  would  be  overlooked.  Nor  would  the 
fear  of  the  Foreign  Devil's  country,  which  up  to 
now  had  protected  her,  be  sufficient  to  save  this 
hut  from  the  search. 


THE  YELLOW  WOLF  247 

A  scratching  sounded  behind  the  chest  and 
both  women  ran  to  help  the  old  blind  beggar 
through  the  opening. 

The  breath  was  nearly  gone  from  the  shriveled 
lungs;  his  frail  old  body  shook  with  the  beating 
of  his  heart.     Between  gasps  his  voice  faltered : 

"  The  Yellow  Wolf  comes  to  search  this  hut. 
He  has  sworn  by  the  Ruby  God  to  have  Tai  Loy. 
Quickly,  come  quickly!  There  is  but  one  safe 
place, —  in  the  back  of  the  Dragon  Shrine,  behind 
the  very  god  itself.  Never  will  he  think  to  look 
for  her  there." 

"  Yes,  yes !  "  Poor  little  Tai  Loy  was  nearly 
incoherent  with  fright.  "  The  Old  One  is  right ! 
Hoang  can  hide  me;  even  though  the  other  two 
priests  are  there,  he  can  hide  me."  She  was 
gathering  her  green  robe  from  about  her  feet  and 
frantically  crawling  backward  through  the  open- 
ing. 

Miss  Haldayne  peered  into  the  darkness  after 
her.  "  Circle  the  village,"  she  advised  rapidly. 
"  Look  out  for  sentries  posted  outside.  I  '11  let 
them  think  you  're  here ;  that  '11  give  you  time  to 
reach  the  temple." 

The  frightened  little  face  vanished;  the  dry 
tamarisks  crackled  for  a  moment,  then  were  si- 
lent, Tai  Loy  and  the  old  blind  man  were  swal- 
lowed up  in  the  darkness.  The  white  woman 
shoved  the  heavy  chest  back  into  place,  then 


248        WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

hastily  crossed  the  room  to  the  door  as  #  fresh 
burst  of  shouting,  nearer  now,  split  the  cold  air. 

Yellow  Wolf  flung  open  the  door,  to  find  him- 
self staring  into  a  revolver  pointed  by  the  grim- 
mouthed  woman  he  hated.  For  the  moment  the 
yellow  glare  of  the  candle,  after  the  black  night 
outside,  caused  him  to  halt  and  blink.  The  un- 
certain shadows  playing  over  his  face  with  the 
rush  of  air  rendered  him  more  fiercely  repulsive 
than  ever.  He  was  a  giant  compared  with  the 
stunted  Lo-Lo  he  ruled;  his  face,  burned  nearly 
black,  was  deeply  lined  from  squinting  into  the 
sun-glare  of  the  Gobi.  His  hair  was  a  black 
thatch,  bristling  in  a  mat  from  his  scalp,  and 
falling  halfway  down  his  naked  back.  Hung 
with  skins  and  patches  of  filthy  rags,  his  belt 
thrust  with  a  murderous-edged  hatchet  and  a 
stolen  gun  —  this  was  the  Scourge  of  the  Gobi ; 
the  Yellow  Pestilence  of  the  Desert. 

His  small  fierce  eyes  leaped  about  the  room, 
striving  to  pierce  beyond  the  golden  mesh  of  the 
candle's  flare.  The  corners  were  thick  with 
shadows  and  the  menacing  revolver  kept  him 
from  advancing  farther. 

He  spoke  fiercely  to  the  unafraid  white 
woman :  "  Where  is  she?  Where  have  you  hid- 
den Tai  Loy?  " 

Black  hatred  gleamed  scornfully  from  the  eyes 
that  confronted  him. 


THE  YELLOW  WOLF  249 

"Why  should  I  hide  Tai  Loy?"  she  jeered. 
"  Is  the  Yellow  Wolf  so  hated  that  women  hide 
from  him?  " 

The  taunt  told.  The  lips  twisted  away  from 
the  man's  teeth.  Only  the  revolver  barrel 
pointed  unwaveringly  kept  the  Wolf  at  bay.  A 
stir  ran  through  those  of  his  followers  who  had 
followed  him  there  and  were  clustered  at  his 
back,  half  seen  through  the  darkness. 

The  bandit  spat  out  an  oath  and  fingered  the 
edge  of  his  hatchet  meaningly.  "  The  White 
Devil  will  do  well  to  bring  out  the  maid/'  he 
warned.     "  She  was  seen  to  run  in  here." 

Miss  Haldayne  met  this  with  a  maddening 
laugh.  Her  black  eyes  were  fanatical. 
"  You  're  very  brave,  Yellow  Wolf, —  are  n't  you? 
—  to  make  war  on  women.  Do  you  think  I 
would  give  Tai  Loy  up  to  you?  She  is  not  for 
such  desert  spawn  as  you !  "  She  eyed  him  inso- 
lently, moving  squarely  before  the  door  as  his 
eyes  plunged  too  far  into  the  room  with  its  shift- 
ing shadows.  Tai  Loy  should  be  well  clear  of 
the  tamarisk  patch  by  now. 

The  face  of  the  savage  contracted  with  sudden 
rage.  The  enmity  which  had  ever  smoldered 
between  him  and  the  white  woman  was  fanned  to 
new  life. 

"  Bring  out  the  maid !  "  he  threatened  with 
another  oath,  "  or  by  the  Bed  God  of  my  fathers 


250         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

you  shall  go  to  join  the  devils  from  whom  you 
are  sprung !  n 

The  woman  before  him  sneered.  The  fierce 
light  of  battle  had  leaped  to  her  black  eyes ;  they 
glowed  in  the  golden  half-light. 

"  Yellow  Wolf  of  Han  T'sin,  murderer  of  men, 
despoiler  of  women,  hear  me  now !  "  The  words 
were  melodramatic,  but  her  delivery  was  slow 
and  scornful.  It  dropped  from  her  lips  into  the 
sudden  silence  with  the  inevitability  of  dripping 
water. 

"  Scourge  of  the  Desert,  curse  of  the  Hills  of 
T'ang,  bastard  offspring  of  the  hyenas,  before  I 
would  deliver  Tai  Loy  into  your  profane  hands 
I  would  kill  her  with  my  own!  The  mark  of 
the  Beast  is  set  on  your  forehead ;  the  wrath  of 
God  is  red  above  you!  Upon  you  shall  fall  the 
judgment  meted  out  to  Cain.  You  shall  be  as 
one  with  Abaddon  and  Babylon  in  the  day  to 
come.  Leave  me  in  peace.  WThoever  first  sets 
foot  over  this  threshold,  you  or  one  of  your  ras- 
cally crew,  I  will  send  him  to  his  fathers  with 
a  bullet  through  his  filthy  hide !  " 

Like  all  other  savages,  the  Lo-Los  delighted  in 
the  dramatic.  Superstition  mingled  with  their 
very  blood  and  ran  in  every  vein.  The  curse 
hovered  in  the  air  as  an  almost  tangible  cloud 
before  their  dreading  eyes;  instinctively  they 
shrank  from  the  vehemence  of  the  white  woman. 


THE  YELLOW  WOLF  251 

Even  the  Yellow  Wolf  halted  at  its  cold,  meas- 
ured cadences,  rendered  the  more  dreadful  by  the 
unfamiliar  phrases.  A  slight  movement  trav- 
ersed the  half -circle  of  barbarians,  more  felt  than 
seen,  as  an  unseen  breeze  stirs  through  a  rice- 
field  at  night.  The  Yellow  Wolf  fell  back  a  step, 
then  his  head  turned  sharply. 

An  outburst  of  shouts  rose  on  the  night.  Un- 
intelligible cries  rent  the  air  out  there  in  the 
village.  The  chief  wheeled,  his  lips  twisting  in 
hate  from  his  blackened  teeth.  He  told  off  two 
men,  half-naked  savages,  and  hurled  his  orders 
at  them  : 

"  Guard  the  entrance  of  this  hut.  Let  the 
White  Devil  try  to  escape  if  she  dare!  I  am 
the  Yellow  Wolf  of  the  Gobi.  Who  shall  at- 
tempt to  balk  my  desires!  "  With  this  bragga- 
docio he  disappeared  in  the  darkness,  his  feet 
pounding  the  clay  as  he  raced  to  the  scene  of  the 
outbreak. 

Eliza  Haldayne  bolted  fast  the  heavy  door, 
then  brushed  the  beads  of  sweat  from  her  fore- 
head with  the  back  of  her  free  hand.  Tai  Loy 
must  have  nearly  reached  the  temple  by  now. 
There,  if  she  could  evade  the  other  two  priests, 
Hoang  could  hide  her  until  the  restless  pack  of 
the  Wolf  had  left. 

The  long  night  moved  on,  punctuated  by  fright- 
ful outbursts  of  shrill  shouts.     Han  T'sin  cow- 


252         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

ered  beneath  the  heel  of  the  swaggering  bandits ; 
its  natives  crouched  in  their  squalid  huts  or 
hastened  to  do  the  bidding  of  their  tyrant.  All 
that  night  Eliza  Haldayne  sat  on  the  chest,  her 
back  to  the  wall,  her  revolver  pointing  at  the 
closed  square  of  doorway  opposite.  Twice  only 
did  she  stir,  to  light  a  fresh  candle  when  the 
old  one  burned  down  to  the  saucer.  Without  the 
hut  she  could  hear  the  two  guards  grumbling  at 
their  inactivity;  yet  such  was  their  fear  of  the 
Yellow  Wolf  that  their  vigilance  never  relaxed. 

When  the  little  slit  of  window  high  up  on  the 
wall  showed  a  pallid  square  of  dawn,  fresh  voices 
drifted  to  her  ears.  The  Yellow  Wolf's  suddenly 
sounded  close  at  hand  in  ferocious  good  humor, 
but  he  made  no  further  demand  for  the  girl. 

The  hours  passed,  to  the  weary  woman  in  the 
narrow  hut  seeming  to  drag  with  leaden  feet. 
The  sun  began  to  beat  down  with  its  accustomed 
fury.  Only  the  little  window-slit  brought  any 
air  to  the  dim  interior. 

There  was  a  sudden  hubbub  outside,  the  rising 
of  shrill  voices,  a  stir  of  excitement.  She  heard 
the  scraping  of  wood,  of  something  heavy  being 
dragged  over  the  hard  ground.  Her  fingers 
gripped  the  handle  of  the  revolver  tensely.  Once 
she  lifted  it  and  placed  the  cold  rim  against  her 
temple,  tentatively.  It  fell  again  to  her  lap,  its 
muzzle  pointed  to  the  door,  as  a  sudden  mocking 


THE  YELLOW  WOLF  253 

voice,  the  voice  of  the  Yellow  Wolf,  broke  the 
heated  silence  which  had  fallen. 

"  White  Devil,  behold  your  disciple,  the  Chris- 
tian of  Han  T'sin !  Thus  will  we  deal  with  all 
foreign  devils,  with  all  who  cross  the  path  of 
the  Yellow  Wolf!" 

There  was  something  menacing  in  that  mock- 
ery which  dragged  Eliza  Haldayne  to  her  feet 
with  weary  dread,  across  the  room  to  the  narrow 
slit  of  window.  As  her  face  appeared,  a  white 
patch  against  the  shadowy  interior,  a  taunting 
shout  rose  from  the  barbarians  ranged  outside, 
but  she  hardly  heard  it. 

In  the  blinding  glare  of  the  sun,  driving  down 
now  with  cruel  force  before  the  hut,  rose  a 
wooden  framework  a  little  over  six  feet  in  height. 
It  tapered  up  as  a  pyramid,  its  apex  only  large 
enough  to  clip  a  man  about  the  neck.  It  was 
the  prison  of  the  old  Chinese  beggar  Yeun  Low. 
In  it  he  was  forced  to  stand  painfully  on  tiptoe 
to  keep  from  being  slowly  strangled.  His  foot- 
hold was  of  bricks  precariously  piled  one  on  an- 
other, his  sightless  face  was  strained  painfully 
upright  in  his  effort,  to  the  full  blaze  of  the  sun. 
Flies  and  gnats  hung  over  him  in  buzzing  clouds. 
It  was  a  typical  Chinese  torture. 

Again  came  the  savage  mockery  of  the  bandit 
chief : 

"  Behold  the  half-chewed  meat  of  the  Yellow 


254         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

Wolf!  This  time  I  shall  finish  my  meal.  To- 
night a  brick  shall  be  removed  from  beneath  his 
feet,  if  that  is  necessary.  There  will  be  no  need 
for  another  one  to-morrow !  " 

Sickened,  Eliza  Haldayne  staggered  away  from 
the  slit  of  window,  back  to  the  close  interior  of 
the  hut.  The  hard  crust  of  austerity  was  broken 
for  once.  She  was  a  palpitating,  horror-stricken 
woman,  the  revolver  lying  forgotten  in  her  lap, 
her  black  eyes  glazed  and  staring,  only  the 
muscles  of  her  throat  moving  convulsively  now 
and  then  throughout  the  hot,  torturing  hours. 

Bed  sky  above  the  tamarisks,  a  smoky  red  light 
hovering  over  the  desert.  Shadows  grew  long, 
thickened  and  met.  The  Yellow  Wolf  held 
strangely  aloof.  Night  descended  on  the  dusty 
face  of  the  Gobi.  Then  the  exhausted  woman 
stirred  herself  wearily  to  some  show  of  alacrity. 
Carefully  glancing  over  her  shoulder  at  the  nar- 
row slit  of  window  barely  perceptible  in  the  dark- 
ness, she  tugged  aside  the  heavy  square  chest 
and  lowered  herself  into  the  outer  blackness. 

After  the  suffocating  heat  of  the  one  room  the 
night  air  was  gratefully  cold  and  fresh.  She 
stood  for  one  reeling  moment  in  the  shrubs, 
bracing  herself  by  long  breaths.  Then,  cau- 
tiously, that  those  guarding  the  hut  might  not 
hear  the  crackling  twigs,  she  crept  through  the 
brush,  out  to  the  open  desert  beyond  the  oasis. 


THE  YELLOW  WOLF  255 

Up  and  down,  scrambling,  falling  on  the  un- 
even clay  ridges,  now  forced  to  pass  around  one 
too  steep  to  scale,  now  crawling  painfully  down 
a  steep  declivity,  she  made  her  way,  until  the 
black  mass  of  the  temple  bulked  large  before 
her. 

Through  the  gap  in  the  outer  wall,  the  gap  that 
little  Tai  Loy  knew  so  well,  she  crawled.  A 
dark  figure  emerged  from  the  black  background 
and  leaped  toward  her,  while  she  swayed  back  in 
weak  terror. 

"  Tai  Loy !  "     The  cry  was  low  but  agonized. 

"Hoang!  Thank  God!"  Eliza  Haldayne 
stumbled  and  would  have  fallen  but  for  the 
steadying  grip  of  the  young  priest. 

"  Tai  Loy  —  where  is  she !  "  came  in  a  hoarse 
whisper. 

That  cleared  the  white  woman's  clouding 
brain.  A  cold  hand  seemed  to  grip  her  heart. 
"  She  is  n't  here  with  you?  I  sent  her,  last 
night !  The  Yellow  Wolf  thought  she  was  in  my 
hut.  I  let  him  think  so,  that  she  might  have  time 
to  escape.     I  thought  she  was  here." 

The  young  priest  wrung  his  hands  together  in 
anguish,  but  no  words  came. 

Voices  suddenly  raised  themselves,  perilously 
close, —  the  two  priests  walking  through  the 
temple.  Hoang  forced  himself  to  alertness. 
"  The  others !  "  he  whispered  brokenly.     "  Come ; 


256         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

there  is  only  one  place  where  you  will  be  safe. 
No  one  will  suspect.     Come." 

Silently  as  a  shadow  he  glided  through  the 
gloom  before  her;  through  an  entrance  of 
crumbling  masonry,  holding  aside  curtains  that 
she  could  not  see  in  the  dark,  guiding  her  along 
a  tortuous  passage.  A  mesh  of  golden  light 
gleamed  through  a  curtain  drawn  before  some  lit 
space.     Hoang  stopped. 

"  Silence !  "  he  cautioned.  "  Do  not  move  on 
your  life  while  there  is  a  footstep  out  there.  I 
go  to  find  out  what  I  can." 

He  glided  away  and  Eliza  Haldayne,  in  an 
agony  of  apprehension,  was  left  hiding  at  the 
back  of  the  heathen  shrine,  behind  the  Ruby  God 
of  Han  T'sin. 

Tai  Loy  was  not  here!  The  menace  of  that 
fact  kept  pounding  upon  her  tired  brain,  until 
in  sheer  self-defense  she  forced  herself  to  take 
note  of  outward  things  to  quell  the  panic  it 
brought.  Things  took  gradual  shape  through  the 
weave  of  the  curtain.  She  saw  the  flare  of  can- 
dles in  their  red  candlesticks.  One  of  the  dragon 
supports  of  the  shrine  gleamed  in  richest  gold 
inlay  and  lacquer,  red  and  black, —  a  treasure 
looted  from  some  rich  city  in  the  south.  Directly 
before  her,  so  near  that  her  outstretched  arm 
could  touch  its  back,  was  the  idol.  Fire  opal 
and  sea-green  jade,  wine  topaz  and  golden  beryl, 


THE  YELLOW  WOLF  257 

black  jasper,  apple-green  chrysoprase,  and  rubies 
from  Kyat  Pyen  blazed  steadily  in  the  candles' 
glow.  An  incongruous  object  in  that  squalid 
Lo-Lo  village,  a  marvel  of  intricate  carving  still 
telling  in  its  exquisite  workmanship  of  the 
Burma  temple  from, which  it  had  been  stolen  cen- 
turies before. 

The  curtains  swayed  behind  her  and  her 
strained  nerves  jumped.  It  was  Hoang,  his  face 
shell-white,  his  eyes  black,  lusterless  blots  of 
fearful  apprehension. 

"  I  have  a  camel  waiting  on  the  desert  to  the 
north.     You  must  flee  at  once." 

"  Tai  Loy !  "  gasped  the  woman. 

The  young  priest  winced.  "  I  shall  search  for 
her  until  I  find  her;  then  she  too  shall  ride  to 
safety." 

Silent  as  the  darkness  through  which  they  felt 
their  way,  they  stole  along  the  passage.  Be- 
neath the  woman's  hand  the  cold  rough  stones 
ceased.  The  air  grew  suddenly  fresh.  They 
had  reached  the  outer  court.  Through  the  gap 
in  the  crumbling  wall  Hoang  glided  before  her 
and  still  silently  they  made  their  way  down  the 
slight,  rough  hill. 

There  was  danger  now  of  being  seen,  for  a  leper- 
white  moon  rode  the  heavens.  They  lowered 
themselves  cautiously  in  the  deep  shadows  cast 
by  the  scars  of  clay.     Below  them,  Han  T'sin 


■to* 


258        WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

cowered  beneath  the  dying  poplars.  The  moon- 
light picked  out  the  white  patch  of  water  where 
the  blind  beggar  had  talked  to  Tai  Loy  the  night 
before.  Two  fires  leaped  beneath  the  trees;  the 
ragged  bandit  crew  gathered  about  them,  their 
figures  dark  against  the  rosy  flame.  Fitfully 
the  wind  blew  snatches  of  their  savage  chants 
to  the  ear.  The  moon  sailed  higher,  burst  into 
white  flame  in  the  sky.  Its  radiance  picked  out 
the  jagged  edges  of  the  ridges  and  benches  of 
clay;  it  picked  out  the  black  pitfalls  in  their 
path,  showing  their  depths  as  velvet  black.  It 
picked  out  something  else,  lying  there  in  a  shal- 
low clay  depression,  something  leaf -green. 

A  sudden  recklessness  of  danger  straightened 
the  woman  and  the  young  priest  and  sent  them 
flying  over  the  rugged  ground. 

Beneath  the  white  leprosy  of  the  moon,  the 
tender  green  on  the  robe  seemed  a  spring  leaf 
fluttered  to  the  earth,  a  crumpled  leaf.  The  lit- 
tle face  between  the  outspread  blue-black  hair 
was  upturned  to  the  sky,  a  bit  of  exquisitely 
carved  ivory,  and  as  cold  and  still. 

The  Old  One  had  been  right.  The  dawn  was 
not  for  Tai  Loy. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

HOANG 

FOR  a  long  moment  the  eyes  of  the  two  clung 
together  in  mute  anguish  over  that  little 
green  figure.  The  young  priest's  face  was  blank 
as  white  paper.  Crouched  on  his  heels,  his  slate- 
gray  robe  melting  into  the  gray  light,  his  shaven 
head  gleaming  ivory-white  in  the  unpitying  light 
of  the  moon,  he  was  no  less  motionless  than  the 
dead  Tai  Loy. 

Then  he  slowly  swayed  forwTard  until  his  fore- 
head rested  for  a  brief  moment  on  the  little 
still  bosom.  When  he  lifted  his  face  again  to 
the  moonlight  it  was  overspread  with  a  sort  of 
hopeless  serenity.  His  voice  came  hushed  to 
the  ears  of  the  listening  white  woman : 

"  For  many  years,  long  and  faithfully,  have  I 
served  the  Dragon  Shrine,  have  I  served  the  Ruby 
God  of  Han  T'sin, —  that  worthless  thing  of 
wood  and  metal!  To  it  I  sacrificed  the  flower 
of  my  youth,  the  fragrance  of  my  love.  Yet  it 
could  not  save  my  little  pomegranate  maid  from 
the  claws  of  the  Beast.  It  is  worthless  wood, 
senseless  stone  —  as  you  said  —  as  you  said,  Tai 

259 


260        WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

Loy !  "  His  voice  dropped  to  a  lower  note,  as  in 
a  song,  as  though  that  still  green  form  could  hear 
and  be  comforted.  "  Little  pomegranate  maid, 
the  God  you  revered  shall  be  my  God!  The 
Teacher  you  love  I  shall  serve  for  the  rest  of 
my  days.  Thus  do  I  answer  your  prayers,  little 
Loy  —  your  prayers,  little  Loy  —  too  late !  " 

His  voice  broke  and  his  bowed  head  was  hidden 
for  the  moment  in  his  hands. 

The  white  woman  had  slowly  straightened  and 
towered  above  the  kneeling  man  and  the  pros- 
trate figure.  Her  black  brows  met  in  one  un- 
broken line,  her  mouth  was  grim,  her  eyes 
gleamed.  She  seemed  to  gain  stature  in  the 
moonlight.  As  an  avenging  Miriam,  she  looked 
toward  dark  Han  T'sin  and  the  leaping  fires 
beneath  the  poplars.  Her  nostrils  twitched  with 
the  fire  of  her  passion. 

11  Han  T'sin !  Cradle  of  the  yellow  beast, 
breeder  of  desert  spawn,  may  Almighty  God  smite 
you  in  His  righteous  wTrath!  For  every  drop 
of  this  innocent  blood  may  a  strong  man  wither 
and  die!  May  the  pool  of  Odontala  become  a 
dry  crust!  May  your  name  be  an  abomination 
throughout  the  desert !     May  your  Bed  Idol  — " 

She  checked  herself  abruptly,  struck  by  a  sud- 
den thought,  her  black  eyes  flaming.  On  the 
motionless  figure  of  the  crouching  man  she 
wheeled. 


HOANG  261 

"  Han  T'sin  has  robbed  us  of  this  —  our  dear- 
est love.  It  has  robbed  me  of  my  little  worldly 
goods;  it  would  as  lightly  rob  us  of  our  lives. 
We  will  rob  it  of  the  only  thing  of  value  it  pos- 
sesses! Hoang,  we  will  take  the  Red  Idol  with 
us  on  the  camels !  " 

A  deep  red  light  burned  in  the  black  eyes. 
Her  words  rang  crisply  with  grim  triumph.  "  A 
worthy  revenge !  Han  T'sin  will  remember  this 
crime  as  it  watches  the  dust  settle  on  the  empty 
Dragon  Shrine.  The  idol's  jewels  shall  be  sold 
in  America  and  the  money  shall  spread  the  teach- 
ings of  Christ  throughout  this  benighted  desert ! 
Little  Tai  Loy  shall  not  have  been  murdered  in 
vain ! " 

The  young  priest  gently  drew  a  sleeve  of  the 
green  robe  over  the  still  face.  Then  he  straight- 
ened solemnly.  Only  the  deep  pain  glowing  in 
the  stoical  eyes  told  of  the  anguish  he  suffered. 

"  We  will  take  the  Red  Idol,"  he  said  simply. 

With  heavy  hearts,  they  ascended  the  slight 
hill.  The  other  two  priests  had  gone  to  the  vil- 
lage below.  The  place  was  empty.  They  felt 
their  way  along  the  dark  passage  which  led  to 
the  back  of  the  Dragon  Shrine. 

The  yellow  candles  in  their  red  holders  glowed 
as  serenely  as  though  no  still  little  figure  lay 
cold  in  the  moonlight.  In  their  gold  haze  the 
Ruby  God  of  Han  T'sin  weltered  in  his  own 


262        WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

dazzle  and  his  deep-red  eyes  glowed.  An  acid 
triumph  surmounted  the  cold  ache  in  Eliza  Hal- 
day  ne's  heart  at  the  grim  justice  she  was  meed- 
ing.  With  the  strength  of  a  man  she  "helped  the 
young  priest  lift  the  heavy  idol  from  the  Dragon 
Shrine  where  it  had  stood  for  years.  A  curtain, 
looted  tapestry  from  the  East,  was  stretched  on 
the  floor  and  received  the  fallen  god.  In  the 
flicker  of  the  candles  the  red  eyes  appeared  to 
glow  with  malicious  helplessness,  the  ebony  lips 
twisted  from  the  ivory  teeth  in  futile  rage. 

About  the  four  pillars  which  supported  the 
Dragon  Shrine  the  red-and-black  lacquered  drag- 
ons were  watching  in  bulging-eyed  astonish- 
ment. In  the  uncertain  light  they  appeared  to 
crawl  to  a  vantage-point,  to  twist  closer  to  the 
poles,  to  puff  noiseless  smoke  from  their  amazed 
nostrils  and  knit  their  startled  brows. 

The  ends  of  the  tapestry  were  gathered,  one 
by  the  woman,  one  by  the  priest,  and  in  this  rude 
hammock  the  Bed  One  was  carried  toward  the 
rear  passage. 

Before  they  had  quite  gained  it  they  stopped 
in  sudden  alarm.  A  footfall  sounded  on  the 
stone  step  without,  a  figure  appeared  in  the  en- 
trance arch,  a  figure  that  stood  blinking,  dazzled 
by  the  change  from  the  night  to  the  blaze  of  the 
many  candles.     The  yellow  radiance  fell  on  the 


HOANG  263 

skin-clad  body,  the  blackened  face,  and  the  brist- 
ling thatch  of  the  Yellow  Wolf. 

It  was  only  a  moment  that  he  stood  dazed,  his 
unbelieving  eyes  squinted  toward  the  gaping 
space  of  the  empty  Dragon  Shrine,  but  it  was  one 
of  those  moments  which  tell  in  the  scales  of  fate. 
From  the  tense  young  priest  came  a  queer  sound, 
a  soft  snarl,  such  a  sound  as  a  great  cat-creature 
would  make  in  hate.  Through  the  golden  haze 
darted  a  lithe  avenging  figure,  more  swift  even 
than  a  great  cat  would  be,  and  as  sure.  The 
light  glanced  for  a  brief  second  on  the  blade  of  an 
upraised  dagger,  flashed  again  on  its  downward 
plunge;  then,  with  deadly  accuracy,  it  was 
sheathed  in  the  Yellow  Wolfs  side. 

A  bellow  of  rage  rang  to  the  stone  corners  of 
the  temple ;  the  bandit  broke  through  that  costly 
stupefaction  and  blundered  toward  the  young 
priest,  fumbling  fingers  reaching  for  the  hatchet 
in  his  belt.  The  flashing  dagger  was  withdrawn 
viciously,  flashed,  and  again  descended,  the  point 
bit  into  the  flesh  —  bit  deep,  this  time,  for  his 
unguarded  movement  had  betrayed  the  Wolf's 
left  breast  and  the  needle-point  of  the  weapon 
found  the  heart. 

There  was  a  moment,  eons  long,  in  which  the 
echoes  of  that  closed-in  shout  still  rang  in  their 
ears,  while  the  stricken  giant  rocked  stupidly 


264         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

on  wide-planted,  failing  legs  and  tried  to  see  his 
assailant  through  the  mist  of  death  that  mingled 
with  the  yellow  haze  and  formed  a  fog  before  his 
eyes.  Through  the  roar  of  approaching  death  in 
his  ears  came  the  ringing  voice  of  the  young 
priest,  cold,  sharp-pointed  as  ice. 

"  This  for  the  murder  of  Tai  Loy,  thou  yellow 
beast ! " 

It  pierced  through  the  tumult  in  his  brain. 
The  stricken  bandit  tried  to  bellow  to  his  follow- 
ers, unaware  that  his  voice  made  less  than  the 
least  whisper.  His  arms  shot  out,  fumbling 
through  the  fog  bearing  down  upon  him,  trying  to 
reach  the  straight,  scornful  figure  his  failing 
eyes  could  just  make  out,  then  the  Scourge  of  the 
Gobi  tottered  and  crashed  to  the  ground,  driving 
the  dagger  still  deeper  into  his  savage  breast, 
and  lay  there  outsprawled  in  the  golden  light, 
powerless  at  last,  before  the  empty  Dragon 
Shrine. 

It  was  a  simple  matter  to  lead  away  two  camels 
from  the  herd  tethered  at  the  end  of  the  village. 
No  one  had  been  left  to  guard  them.  Han  T'sin 
lay  cowering  in  its  huts;  the  followers  of  the 
Yellow  Wolf  were  gathered  about  the  leaping 
fires  under  the  poplars. 

On  one  of  the  animals  the  fallen  god  was 
placed,  ignominiously  twisted  in  its  tapestry 
curtain.     On  this  one,  too,  the  white  woman 


HOANG  265 

mounted,  her  eyes  gleaming  with  strange  red 
lights  in  the  cold  light  of  the  moon.  But  when 
they  were  ready  to  start,  the  young  priest  said 
simply,  "  Wait ! "  and  disappeared  among  the 
shadows  of  the  scarred  hill. 

The  night  grew  in  long  moments  before  he 
came  to  view  again,  stumbling  and  climbing  over 
the  clay  ridges,  and  in  his  arms  was  a  still  green 
figure. 

"  She  was  not  of  Han  T'sin,"  and  the  mournful 
cadence  of  his  voice  was  like  a  requiem.  "  She 
shall  not  be  placed  in  the  gray  clay  where  hyenas 
prowl  and  snarl  over  the  dead.  To  the  north 
there  is  a  tiny  oasis  where,  above  sweet  waters, 
three  willows  bend  and  where  I  have  seen  white 
butterflies  flutter.     There  we  will  take  her." 

The  camels  rose  and  lurched  into  their  swing- 
ing gait  at  the  command.  Keeping  to  the  black 
declivities  which  marred  the  face  of  the  desert, 
they  were  as  shadows  fleeing  among  shadows,  as 
swift  and  sure  as  the  passing  of  the  night  wind. 

The  white  woman  looked  back  once  as  her 
camel  took  the  lead.  The  fires  of  Han  T'sin  were 
red  stars  set  in  the  desert,  ever  growing  smaller. 
The  temple  where  the  dead  Wolf  lay  outsprawled 
in  the  incense-filled  golden  silence  was  a  black 
blot  against  the  sky.  The  dying  village  crouched 
beneath  the  dying  trees. 

On  the  swaying  back  of  the  second  animal  the 


266         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

young  priest's  figure  was  rigid.  His  face  was 
marmoreal  in  the  moon's  glare;  the  little  dead 
Tai  Loy  was  cradled  in  his  arms. 

Tai  Loy  had  her  wish.     Mounted  on  the  same 
camel,  they  were  fleeing  far  from  Han  T'sin. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE   CURTAIN   ASCENDS 

OUT  of  the  darkness  dawned  a  star,  a  gleam 
of  light  faintly,  steadily  breaking.  A  gray 
vapor  seemed  to  uproll  curtainwise  in  oppressive 
silence.  Shape  and  color  were  born,  seen  dimly 
at  first,  growing  in  density  on  my  aching  eyes. 
The  red  glow  before  me  shrunk  and  separated 
and  became  the  twin  ruby  eyes  of  the  idol. 

"  We  brought  it  into  this  country,  Hoang  and 
I.  No  need  telling  how  —  Hoang  planned  it. 
Hoang  ?s  clever." 

It  was  Miss  Haldayne's  voice,  thin  and  far 
away,  beating  upon  my  ears,  and  I  dimly  knew 
that  I  had  been  hearing  that  thin  voice  for  cen- 
turies of  time,  ever  since  I  had  first  met  the  red 
stare  of  the  Ruby  God.  And  even  as  I  realized 
this  I  became  aware  of  a  prickling  and  tingling 
starting  up  my  limbs ;  the  sluggish  blood  stirred 
through  chilled  veins. 

"  We  hid  it  for  a  while,  planning  to  remove 
the  stones  and  sell  them  one  at  a  time  so  that  it 
wouldn't  create  too  much  sensation.     We  were 

267 


268         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

going  to  turn  the  money  over  to  the  missionaries. 
Then  the  devil  in  the  thing  began  to  work.  Oh, 
you  need  n't  look  at  me  like  that,  George  Rogers ! 
There  's  a  very  real  devil  in  it.  What  do  you 
know  of  Chinese  sorcery,  you  who  have  never  seen 
the  heart  of  the  Gobi!  Hoang  told  me  its  his- 
tory. It  has  another,  a  Chinese  name,  which 
means  i  That  which  Cannot  be  Hid.-  Time  af- 
ter time  the  warring  tribes  to  the  north  sought 
to  steal  it  from  the  temple  of  Han  T'sin.  It  has 
been  hidden  in  the  Khingan  Hills.  A  chief  from 
the  Sayan  made  off  with  it  and  hid  it  in  his  wild 
country.  Always  it  was  somehow  returned  to 
the  Dragon  Shrine.  I  laughed  at  that  once,  like 
you.  Now  I  know  better.  It  has  been  a  mill- 
stone about  our  necks.  We  began  to  hate  the 
thing.  We  even  feared  to  pry  out  the  gems  and 
sell  them.  The  Lord  did  n't  seem  to  want  the 
evil  wealth  it  would  bring. 

"  Once,  in  San  Francisco's  Chinatown,  I  felt 
the  eyes  of  a  man  upon  me  one  day  and  turned. 
It  was  one  of  the  Yellow  Wolfs  band  —  here  in 
America !  I  saw  recognition  leap  into  his  face ; 
then  the  crowd  swept  between  us  and  I  got  away. 
That  settled  it.  I  knew  that  the  call  of  the  idol 
had  been  heard  in  Han  T'sin  and  that  Hoang  and 
I  were  to  be  hunted  down.  That  very  day  we 
came  down  here,  to  Dune  House.  Drusilla  was 
with  me  then  —  the  whining,  flabby  thing  you 


THE  CURTAIN  ASCENDS  269 

see  —  and  my  dead  sister  Florence's  two  chil- 
dren. This  place  seemed  the  safest  haven.  It 
was  an  old  house  built  by  my  father  when  he 
expected  this  part  of  the  coast  to  boom. 

"  How  can  I  tell  you  of  the  curse  the  thing 
has  been!  We  tried  to  hide  it,  Hoang  and  I, 
lest  its  call  go  out  from  here.  We  buried  it 
deep  in  the  sand  back  there  in  the  dunes.  The 
winds  blew  until  the  sand  was  blown  away  and 
the  head  stuck  up  above  it,  the  wicked  red  eyes 
staring  toward  the  house  as  if  it  were  watching 
us.  We  flung  it  into  the  water,  but  we  flung  it 
too  close  in.  Each  low  tide  the  ugly  head  pro- 
truded, until  I  could  n't  stand  it,  and  we  dragged 
it  out  one  day  and  put  it  in  this  room. 

"  Here  Kublai  the  priest,  the  brother  of  Hoang, 
followed.  Ann  saw  him  hiding  up  the  gully  that 
day.  In  the  night  he  came  stealing  into  the 
house,  as  we  knew  he  would,  not  guessing  that  we 
were  prepared.  He  came  with  drawn  dagger, 
and  to  save  my  life  Hoang  killed  him  —  killed 
his  brother.  Ann  was  right  about  the  death- 
howl.  Time  swung  back  for  Hoang  when  he  saw 
his  dead  brother  at  his  feet.  He  had  loved  Kub- 
lai and  he  mourned  for  him  in  the  old  fashion  of 
Han  T'sin.  We  buried  him  in  the  sand,  back 
there  in  the  dunes,  by  the  light  of  lanterns. 

"After  that  I  knew  it  was  hopeless.  That 
we  could  only  wait.    The  call  of  the  Red  God  had 


270         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

gone  out.  It  had  called  the  yellow  vermin  here 
from  the  heart  of  the  Gobi.  Chan-chau,  the  an- 
cient priest,  the  last  one  now,  waits  outside  for 
his  Ruby  God  and  he  shall  receive  —  death !  » 

The  black  eyes  were  set  in  a  fierce  stare. 
Though  she  spoke  in  English,  the  woman's  voice 
had  fallen  to  the  singsong  of  the  Chinese  and 
unconsciously  she  had  adopted  their  extravagant 
speech. 

George  Rogers's  voice  was  gratefully  cool  and 
steady  on  my  ears  when  he  replied.  "  Just  a 
minute,  Aunt  Eliza.  This  thing  has  more  than 
one  angle.  We  're  four  against  twenty-odd. 
There  are  forty  fortunes  studded  in  that  idol 
there,  but  I  don't  want  them !  "  He  spoke  as  with 
uncontrollable  repulsion.  "  There 's  been  too 
much  death  over  this  thing  now.  I  'm  not  going 
to  subject  Ann  to  such  danger  for  a  heathen 
idol." 

His  arm  went  boldly  about  my  rigid  body  and 
in  the  warmth  of  that  embrace  my  strained 
muscles  relaxed  so  suddenly  that  he  was  half 
supporting  me  by  his  strength. 

His  calm  voice  swept  steadily  on :  "  Not  all 
the  red  idols  in  the  world  will  help  poor  little 
Tai  Loy  now  and  my  Ann  isn't  going  to  join 
her.  Aunt  Eliza,  you  are  going  to  call  to  that 
Chinese  priest  that  he  can  have  his  heathen  god." 

For  a  long  moment  I  watched  the  black  eyes 


THE  CURTAIN  ASCENDS  271 

and  the  calm  hazel  ones  in  silent  grapple.  Deep 
red  lights  were  kindled  in  the  strange  woman's 
gaze ;  then  they  suddenly  burned  out,  as  live  coals 
turn  black  and  dead.  Her  whole  body  appeared 
to  shrink,  her  mighty  frame  sagged,  her  stubborn 
head  was  drooped.     She  made  a  beaten  gesture. 

"  I  did  it  for  the  best."  Despite  the  strange 
lethargy  gripping  me  I  raised  my  head,  startled. 
That  plaintive  voice  was  so  unlike  the  usual 
vigorous  Eliza  Haldayne. 

The  man  spoke  gently  and  low :  "  I  know  you 
did,  Aunt  Eliza,  but  believe  me,  I  am  acting  for 
the  best  now." 

There  was  no  word  spoken  as  we  turned  our 
backs  on  the  gleaming  idol  and  went  to  the  front 
of  the  house. 

As  we  entered  the  front  parlor,  Hoang  turned 
and  now  that  my  stupid  prejudice  was  laid  to 
rest  I  could  see  the  deep  sadness,  which  I  had 
wilfully  taken  for  sullenness,  lying  in  those  un- 
smiling black  eyes;  could  read  the  grief  which 
was  ever  gnawing  at  the  heart  faithful  to  little 
dead  Tai  Loy. 

Moving  as  one  in  a  dream,  as  she  had  moved 
on  the  stairs  last  night,  Miss  Haldayne  flung 
aside  the  red  curtain  which  muffled  the  bay-win- 
dow. 

Before  the  house,  stoically  waiting  in  the  sun- 
shine, were  the  two  we  had  left.     The  chief  of 


272         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

the  ragged  clan  was  crouching  on  his  heels  in  the 
sand,  Chinese  fashion,  but  the  very  old  priest 
stood  with  folded  arms,  head  bowed  as  though  in 
silent  prayer,  while  the  ocean  wind  fluttered  the 
slate-gray  robe  about  his  wasted  body. 

At  the  sound  of  the  woman's  voice  he  straight- 
ened to  attention,  and  even  beyond  the  creek 
where  the  ragged  crew  had  retreated  and  were 
waiting  with  Oriental  patience  a  tremor  ran  like 
a  strong  wind  blowing. 

Miss  Haldayne  turned  back  with  a  sort  of 
grim  meekness.  "I  told  them  they  could  have 
the  idol.  That  they  could  come  and  get  it  in 
safely,"  she  translated.  "  Only  these  two  are  to 
enter.  I  said  that  we  'd  shoot  the  first  man  to 
put  his  foot  across  the  creek." 

George  Kogers  narrowed  his  eyes  reflectively. 
"  They  '11  suspect  a  trap,"  he  demurred. 

The  gaunt  form  of  the  woman  held  a  curious 
dignity  as  she  answered  this :  "  I  have  never  lied 
to  them.  All  Han  T'sin  knows  that  I  will  keep 
my  word." 

And  indeed,  with  no  further  assurance  than 
that  shouted  command,  the  figure  of  the  squatting 
chief  had  straightened  and  followed  the  meas- 
ured step  of  the  old  priest  along  the  sandy  path. 

A  dramatic  silence  had  fallen  on  the  jabbering 
crew  across  the  shallow  stream.  Only  the  surge 
of  the  water  could  be  heard  as  the  two  silent 


THE  CURTAIN  ASCENDS  273 

figures  mounted  the  steps  and,  unafraid,  entered 
the  house  of  their  enemies. 

A  dramatic  silence  had  fallen  upon  us  as  well. 
Hoang  might  have  been  an  ivory  statue  save  for 
the  fire  in  his  intense  eyes.  The  gaunt  frame  of 
Miss  Haldayne  sagged  as  though  only  her  in- 
domitable will  bore  her  up.  The  hazel  eyes  of 
George  Rogers  held  a  warm  glow  of  understand- 
ing in  their  depths.  He  controlled  the  scene  so 
absolutely  that  there  was  no  hesitation  in  the 
priest's  manner.  The  old  man  addressed  him  as 
the  leader;  his  words  came  in  perfect  English, 
yet  slowly  as  though  he  weighed  and  translated 
them  first  in  his  own  mind : 

"  Now  for  many  years  has  the  pool  of  Odontala 
fled  into  the  sands.  It  has  become  as  a  dry  crust 
on  the  face  of  the  desert.  Under  the  poplars 
Han  T'sin  is  no  more.  Her  children  have  become 
wanderers  in  the  sands.  The  dust  of  the  Gobi 
has  gathered  upon  the  empty  Dragon  Shrine ;  the 
Ruby  One  has  fled  from  among  us.  Because  of 
the  crimes  of  the  Yellow  Wolf,  because  of  the 
murder  of  Tai  Loy  did  the  Great  One  turn  His 
face  from  us.  The  Yellow  Wolf  is  dead.  Han 
T'sin  rose  in  its  wrath  and  killed  his  followers. 
My  people  are  weary  of  bloodshed  and  death. 
They  ask  only  to  raise  their  little  ones  in  peace. 
We  have  been  harried  by  the  tribes  of  the  North 
and  the  tribes  of  the  South  have  taken  the  full 


274         WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

measure  of  revenge  upon  us  for  the  crimes  of 
the  Yellow  Wolf.  Give  us  our  god,  that  we  may 
take  him  to  the  people  that  are  left  and  build  us 
a  place  of  rest  in  the  desert.  Before  I  go  to  join 
my  fathers  let  me  restore  the  Kuby  One  to  his 
children ;  then  may  they  live  in  peace  and  indus- 
try while  the  Gobi  endures,  that  he  may  no  more 
become  angered  and  turn  his  face  from  them. 
This  is  the  prayer  of  Han  T'sin;  the  Han  T'sin 
that  is  no  more." 

I  found  a  dry  sob  tearing  strangely  at  my 
throat.  I  caught  George  Rogers's  hand.  "  Oh, 
give  it  to  them !  "  I  choked.  "  It  means  God  to 
them!" 

The  priest's  aged  eyes  turned  on  me  in  slow 
kindliness,  but  he  did  not  speak. 

George  Rogers  moved  toward  the  door. 
"  Come,"  he  said  gently. 

With  him  went  the  old  priest  and  the  ragged 
stalking  chief.  With  him  went  I,  tense-nerved 
and  silent.  In  the  deserted  parlor  the  beaten 
woman  stared  blankly  across  at  the  white  plaster 
wall,  her  black  eyes  glassy.  Hoang  sat  with 
folded  arms,  his  head  bowed  on  his  breast. 

There  was  not  a  word  spoken  as  its  strange 
followers  were  led  to  the  room  of  the  Ruby  God. 
The  old  priest's  head  was  inclined  once,  rever- 
ently, then,  with  a  strength  one  would  never 


THE  OUKTAIN  ASCENDS  275 

suspect  in  those  shrunken  arms  he  laid  hold  of 
the  idol's  base  and,  aided  by  the  chief,  lifted  it 
from  its  resting  place. 

An  unreal  silence  appeared  to  hold  the  mongrel 
herd  across  the  creek  as  the  oddly  assorted  bear- 
ers came  to  view  on  the  veranda  with  the  object 
of  their  quest.  There  was  no  demonstration  of 
joy,  such  as  one  might  expect.  The  desolation 
of  Han  T'sin  had  been  too  complete  for  that. 
Bather  one  felt  the  lifting  of  a  great  weight 
from  their  bosoms,  an  almost  reverent  relief 
which  lay  too  deep  to  be  expressed  outwardly. 

Our  eyes  followed  them  without  words  as  they 
bore  it  to  the  sloping  beach.  From  the  front 
veranda  we  watched  them  load  it  clumsily  upon 
the  ancient  junk  riding  the  green  water  out 
there ;  watched  them  clamber  after  it,  lithe  brown 
monkeys  in  fluttering,  picturesque  rags.  The 
sun  of  mid-morning  gilded  the  mast  with  its 
crazy  tilt;  the  faint  echo  of  shouted  commands 
came  to  our  ears,  the  great  oar  swung  awkwardly 
around;  the  rising  tide  floated  the  strange  craft, 
its  rag  of  a  sail  bellied  out  with  the  salt  wind; 
the  Ruby  God  was  going  back  to  Han  T'sin. 

On  the  upper  ocean-gazing  veranda,  where  the 
sun  fell  warmly  upon  us,  George  Rogers  and  I 
spoke  together  with  voices  curiously  hushed. 


276        WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

One  thing  remained  in  my  mind,  gnawing,  un- 
satisfied. "  Those  threatening  notes  —  that  I 
don't  understand.     Who  wrote  them?  " 

His  answer  came  promptly  and  without  doubt. 
"  Aunt  Eliza  herself."  Then,  at  my  unexpressed 
disbelief  he  continued :  "  She  's  a  strange  woman. 
A  woman  of  mighty  passions  mightily  repressed. 
Her  self-control  is  marvelous,  but  there 's  a  limit 
to  self-control,  Ann.  Underneath,  that  woman 
is  a  mass  of  palpitating  nerves.  That  she 's  kept 
her  reason  as  well  as  she  has  is  a  tribute  to  the 
hard-headed  stock  from  which  she 's  sprung.  In 
the  daytime  she  was  completely  mistress  of  the 
situation,  but  at  night,  when  the  conscious  will 
is  submerged,  then  all  the  emotions  held  in  leash, 
all  the  impressions,  the  i  second  nature '  or  the 
1  subconscious ' —  call  it  what  you  like  —  comes 
to  its  own.  You  need  n't  look  so  skeptical.  If 
you  'd  seen  some  of  the  effects  of  shell  shock  such 
as  I  saw  in  French  hospitals  you  'd  know  that  the 
line  between  the  conscious  and  the  subconscious 
is  very  vague  and  it  makes  you  doubt  what  is 
real.  The  poor  woman's  very  fears  united  to 
torment  her,  as  our  fears  materialize  in  dreams 
and  torture  us." 

u  But  she  wrote  them,  she  actually  wrote  them ! 
And  she  roamed  the  house;  you  saw  that!  "  My 
tone  wTas  dazed. 

"Tell  me,  my  dear  little  skeptic,  don't  you 


THE  CURTAIN  ASCENDS  277 

know  that  people  walk  in  their  sleep?  What  is 
that  but  a  subconscious  urge  controlling  the 
physical  body  while  the  conscious  will  is  sub- 
merged? Sanity  developed  a  thin,  brittle  edge 
there,  Ann.  It 's  my  stanch  belief  that  another 
month  more  of  the  strain  would  have  broken  it 
off.  She  '11  be  a  mental  wreck  for  a  time  but 
when  she  pulls  out  of  this  crisis  there  's  the  mak- 
ing of  a  fine,  strong-minded  woman  in  Eliza  Hal- 
dayne." 

There  was  a  long  silence  during  which  his  hand 
strayed  to  my  hair,  wind-rumpled,  and  stroked 
it  gently.  With  a  lazy  content  I  felt  his  caress. 
Ours  was  a  strange  betrothal,  almost  without 
words. 

My  voice  sounded  again,  dreamy  to  my  own 
ears : 

"  You  told  me  that  I  heard  her  telling  the 
story  of  little  Tai  Loy,  that  my  nerves  betrayed 
me  into  imagining  that  I  visualized  the  scene. 
Why  is  that  more  strange  than  Miss  Haldayne 
writing  notes  to  herself?  Why  is  it,  then,  that 
I  saw  it  happening  before  my  own  eyes?  that 
I  did  not  hear  —  that  I  saw  it  all  when  I  looked 
into  the  idol's  eyes?  " 

"You  were  all  wrought  up,  Ann.  You  vir- 
tually hypnotized  yourself.  You  saw  only  the 
things  that  Aunt  Eliza  herself  saw.  You  got  it 
through  the  medium  of  her." 


278        WIND  ALONG  THE  WASTE 

I  turned  and  looked  steadily  into  the  hazel 
eyes. 

"  How  about  the  prophecy  of  the  blind  beggar 
to  Tai  Loy  at  the  pool  among  the  tamarisks? 
This  Miss  Haldayne  did  not  know  —  yet  —  / 
know! " 

In  the  depths  of  the  hazel  eyes  I  saw  that  I 
had  scored.  For  a  long  moment  our  gazes 
plunged  into  each  other's.  We  seemed  to  touch 
deeps  unknown,  deeps  hardly  to  be  dreamed  of. 
The  roar  of  the  sea  came  from  very  far  away. 
Then  a  gust  of  salt  wind  blew  fresh  and  clean 
into  our  faces  as  though  to  blow  away  the  musty 
remnants  of  world-old  mysteries;  of  long-hidden 
and  forbidden  things. 

My  hand  was  covered  by  a  firm,  warm  clasp ; 
George  Rogers's  voice  sounded  with  a  pleasantly 
firm  note  in  it. 

"  Sweetheart,  let 's  not  seek  to  know  the 
depths.  Let  >s  stay  up  here  with  the  wind  and 
the  water  and  the  sunshine,  little  Ann." 


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